Infection
by GieGie
Summary: Just a small story I'm putting together chronicling some of the things I think could have happened between Albert Wesker and William Birkin in their early careers at Umbrella. Please R&R! !
1. No Matter What the Cost

_No Matter What the Cost_

_April 21__st__, 1981_

"I didn't know you smoked."

The casually spoken comment had come from his colleague. He'd been sitting on the patio reading a book quietly, the day being nice and sunny, and the wind offering a nice cool breeze to bring down whatever too warm temperatures may have been outside. It was a refreshing change from the laboratories that usually surrounded them, and having a light work load today, for once in almost never it seemed, Albert Wesker wanted to take advantage of it.

The cigarette he held was burning down. It was true, he _didn't_ smoke per say. But one of the new employees had offered him one, and declining to tell the person that he didn't smoke, he took it instead and went to sit on the patio to read while he smoked it.

He'd been out there for a good ten or fifteen minutes before he'd lit it up with a pack of matches he'd taken from the lounge, and as soon as he'd drawn the match across the strip to light it, and took a draw of the cigarette against the flame, he'd heard the comment coming from William Birkin.

Wesker shook the match to get the flame to go out, and pulled the cigarette from between his lips. Somehow, to Birkin he didn't look entirely right doing that, and Wesker told him, "I don't."

"Could've fooled me." Birkin lifted a brow at him. "Mind if I have a seat?"

Wesker, still reading his book, shook his head. So Birkin pulled the chair out across from him and sat down. Birkin didn't say anything at first however, leaving Wesker to read his book. But he did have something on his mind. He was thinking about Spencer's arrival that day, he was scheduled to be there by noon, another half an hour, and Birkin could only wonder what the results of his visit would be.

Wesker wasn't used to the quiet coming from him. It was true, Birkin wasn't a chatterbox, but usually, whenever a situation arose like this, it seemed as if Birkin always had something to say, being the only reason he'd really sought Wesker out like that. Otherwise Birkin would probably be in the laboratory working.

"You're quiet," Wesker decided to interrupt the silence so that he could get it over with and continue on with reading his book.

Birkin shrugged, "Just thinking."

Setting the book down onto its back and flicking the cigarette he'd barely taken a drag of since he'd lit it, Wesker pulled the item to his lips and took another drag finally, looking at his colleague. "About?"

"Spencer's arrival today. Wondering what he's going to say."

Wesker raised a brow and shrugged, blowing the smoke from his nostrils. Birkin couldn't help but ask him, "Why are you smoking that?"

"Because I felt like it."

It made Birkin shrug. That's when Wesker figured it out. "You don't want him to look down on our work, you're trying to impress him."

"Perhaps," Birkin replied, "and we haven't come up with much. It's frustrating."

"Research typically is," Wesker reminded him, sitting back casually as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"And you're _not_ worried that he might turn up something bad?"

"Not specifically. We're operating within acceptable time frames and producing results at a good pace. There shouldn't be anything to turn up wrong."

Birkin rolled his eyes. He was always so damned confident and worry free. "Well, I'm sorry if I can't say I share the sentiment. After all, I want my career to excel, not be standard."

The comment made Wesker crack a slight smirk, and after taking a final drag of the only half smoked cigarette, he threw it out and over the patio walls by placing his middle finger against it and flicking it that far. "Is this all you came to talk to me about?"

"Well," Birkin added, "I also wanted to know where you were for when arrived."

That reminded Wesker of something. Looking back at Birkin, he asked, "And where is Marcus?"

"Cleaning up a project he was working on earlier. He'll be up any minute."

Wesker's nose had crinkled ever so slightly at the comment as if he couldn't care less for what he'd heard. Neither he nor Birkin shared much of a like for James Marcus, their immediate superior, so it stood to reason he'd do that. "Old fool," Birkin muttered, "I think he's–"

Birkin was suddenly cut off when they both heard the rotary blades of a helicopter. Birkin pulled his watch up. "Already? It's only 11:45."

Wesker sighed, reaching out to his book and closing it. "I suppose he wants to get an early start."

Grumbling, Birkin stood up and not long after, Wesker followed him.

The usual proceedings went on every time Spencer arrived at the Mansion. Reports were given, statistics were shared, numbers and values were placed. And Spencer listened to all of them and then gave his opinion.

Wesker could _not_ understand it.

Apparently, the virus wasn't infectious enough, and Spencer wanted a virus that could wipe out an entire population. He didn't care for the means or the cost, and had stressed to all three researchers that he wanted it done no matter what.

It was later on in the evening when Wesker was considering what he'd heard. No longer at the mansion, yet in the residency where he was staying for the time being, he tried to figure out _why_ Spencer would want something like that so badly. But no matter what he thought of, he couldn't quite place it one hundred percent.

Lightening flashed in the room. Wesker ignored it, reached up and removed his shades. Setting them on the bedside table, he sighed a deep breath through his nose and just looked down. Was he the only one to question Spencer like that? Or did Birkin and Marcus have the same questions?

Something was definitely amiss. Wesker thought that perhaps he should get to the bottom of this - as Spencer had said - no matter what the cost.


	2. Happy Birthday

_Happy Birthday_

The contents of the vial were sucked up into the eye dropper and then held over a glass strip where two drops of the purple liquid splattered down onto it after hanging on the end of the glass tube for just a moment.

Another strip was placed on top by latex covered hands, and, the eyedropper set back down, the strip was lifted to a microscope and placed into the tray, followed by the same hands expertly adjusting the knobs on the side of the microscope.

The light shining through the microscope reflected off of the blue irises looking at it, and the cell samples showed no change from previous experimentations done to them. The genetic coding, it would seem, had remained unaltered.

The door to the lab opened and Birkin walked into the room with another researcher behind him. Wesker stood back from the microscope and pulled the gloves off of his hands, followed by rubbing his eyes quietly before plucking his shades from his lab coat pocket and replacing them.

"Any progress?" Birkin asked as he came to stand beside the table that his colleague was making himself a niche at apparently.

"No, none, I was just about to give up for the evening."

Birkin smirked. The expression was telling. Apparently _he has_ come up with something. Wesker lifted his brow at him, and he only said two words. "Show me."

"It was made using the DNA of frogs," Birkin told Wesker from within the lab he'd been working solo in that evening. It'd been about ten minutes since Wesker had made the request to see it, and as he peered through the microscope at the cell samples contained within it, Birkin told him this. "I spliced it, and it seems to work well so far. All I need now is to test the formula in action, and we should have something new and promising to work with."

Wesker stood back, the stem of his shades clutched between his fingers as he'd been looking through the microscope, and he replaced them before he made any motions to respond to Birkin. "It looks interesting. Have you told Marcus of this yet?"

"No," Birkin shook his head as Wesker looked at him, "Marcus is too busy loving on his leeches. I thought I'd save the surprise," he spoke the word blandly and somewhat sarcastically, "for later, when we actually have something worthwhile to show him."

"Good thinking," Wesker drew out, "for once."

Birkin knew what he meant. When it came to people, Wesker was the one with most of the social skills. Birkin was too enthusiastic. Had it been a few years ago, he would have run off to Marcus immediately to show him, but now he'd decided to wait. Birkin supposed some of Wesker's habits and traits had rubbed off on him slightly.

Instead of commenting on it though, Birkin simply nodded, and he leaned back against the table. "There's something else, too. Today's your 21st birthday."

Wesker took that same deep breath through his nose that he usually did whenever he was annoyed at something, and he turned to lean against the table as well. Folding his arms over his chest, he muttered, "No it's not."

Birkin snorted in amusement. Wesker did this every year. He hated birthdays apparently, or just didn't like the fuss. Either way, Birkin had never thrown a fuss over his birthday, or anyone elses, but he did like to mention it to Wesker just to see the man get annoyed at it. But today, Birkin had another excuse for bringing it up. This discovery with the frog and human DNA was one of the first real progresses they'd made in months. He felt like celebrating for that if anything.

But as limited as the discovery was so far, he thought using the ruse of Wesker's birthday to celebrate would have been a little more fitting, especially considering it was his 21st.

"You say that every year, Al," Birkin commented dryly. "What is it about your birthday you hate so much?"

"I don't hate my birthday," Wesker replied, "I just don't have one."

From there, he moved away from the table, and Birkin smirked, "Let's go somewhere to get a drink, just because of the discovery, and your birthday. You can't deny it'd be fitting. Maybe get a couple girls phone numbers."

"The discovery isn't complete, Will," Wesker informed him as he stopped at the door and looked back, "It's not enough to celebrate."

"I know that," Birkin sighed, pushing himself away from the table and stepping forward, "but it's the first progress we've had in months, and considering you're 21 now on the same day, it _has_ to count for _something_. Besides, we've been down here too long, we need to get out for just a little while."

"The rumors of Alexia bothering you again?" Wesker asked curiously.

"That's a slight second reason." Rumor had it the ten year old girl named Alexia Ashford was a child prodigy and excelling in bioengineering. Birkin didn't like the sound of it. "Come on, what's it gonna hurt?"

Wesker rolled his eyes slightly though Birkin couldn't see it due to the shades he wore, and he turned to the door to leave by pushing it open with his hand, and he said, "As you wish."

The comment made Birkin smirk, and he turned to get his things taken care of before he left the room entirely.

The two found themselves in town just a short while later, both dressed much more casually now, Wesker wearing a pair of black khaki's and a short sleeved pullover with the buttons opened comfortably around his neck. Birkin was wearing tan khaki's and a button up shirt of a medium blue. They'd gone to the bar on Mina street called Santo's, a popular frequent of the Umbrella employees in town considering it was located on the north side of the city where the mansion was closer to. It made it easier to get to than Jacks which was located much further south near the police station.

Inside the nice, quiet bar, quiet for a Thursday night, considering the real booming business took place on Friday's and Saturday's, Birkin took the drinks they'd ordered and went to go sit down. Wesker was somewhat glad he'd let Birkin talk him into this now. Birkin had been right. They _did_ need to get out of there for a short while. He supposed his birthday, or the discovery Birkin had recently made, was just as good of an excuse as any.

Wesker was in social mode now, not caring for research or data or experiments or anything with a plot thicker than what it meant to have a drink and maybe, if the opportunity presented itself, the chance to get laid. Though he wasn't looking for it, no, but still, it'd be nice for his birthday.

Birkin watched Wesker as his head turned slightly with the passing of a pretty young woman with auburn hair, and Birkin snorted his amusement, a smirk plastered across his face as he sipped his drink. "What happened to Amy?"

Wesker looked back at Birkin and raised a brow, "Who?"

Birkin couldn't help it. He outright laughed. "You know, Amy, the assistant, the one who's been helping us out everyday at the lab? Jesus Al, you really do forget womens names a lot, don't you?"

Wesker shrugged, "Only if she doesn't present much of a use to me. Amy's nothing serious."

"You flirt with her all the time, I thought you'd had a thing for her."

"Well I do, in my pants, but not much besides that."

In the middle of his comment, Birkin had grinned, staring at his glass on the table, his hands shoved halfway into his pockets. He shook his head slowly, "Just stringing her along, huh?"

"It cures boredom."

Birkin looked up at Wesker who'd lifted his own glass to his lips, and he waited until Wesker had put the drink back down before he said, "You know, I do have a thing for someone."

"More than a physical thing?" Wesker commented dryly in reference to his previous lewd joke.

Birkin snorted softly, "Yeah."

That made Wesker look at him. Wesker had thought that Birkin honestly meant just something sexual again, but no, Birkin had meant a real, genuine interest. As the smoke from other tables wafted through the bar quietly, Wesker simply motioned a 'hmph' noise, though the sound wasn't condescending, just more of a 'that's intriguing' sound if anything. "Who is she?"

Birkin thought about her for the moment, and then he shrugged and sat forward, picking up his glass again and laying his free hand against the table. Looking at Wesker as he lifted the glass, he said, "It doesn't matter," as he then drank some more of the drink, and finally finished when he put the glass back down, "it's just odd, that's all."

"I can only imagine," Wesker told him before he stood up, taking his glass at the same time, "Pardon me, I'm going to go mingle."

"Fine, be my guest," Birkin chuckled softly, looking up at the man, "it's your birthday."

As soon as Birkin had said that, two girls passing by had looked at Wesker, and gave him a smile. Wesker looked back at Birkin and said, "Thank you, Will," and then he moved on to go talk to the same two women at the bar. Birkin just snickered softly as he watched him. Poor women, Birkin thought, they'd never know what hit 'em.

Birkin eyed Wesker for a short while after that, his interactions with the females at the bar, and wondered to himself for a moment if any of the women he'd worked on in the facility, in the laboratories had been the kind of women they were. It was an empowering feeling to know that he could not only use one to further his work and research, but to also talk to in a bar, in a more social setting, and to cure his boredom with like Wesker was now.

But not _her_, Birkin thought for a moment about the girl who'd caught his eye. No, she had a face, a real, actual face with a name and a personality attached to it. She was an actual human being with a living soul. People like that didn't need to be used as stepping stones. But the women Wesker was flirting with now, yes, they could be used easily. They had no attachments to them.

Wesker, Birkin thought again. Sometimes Birkin wished he had the man's charisma and cool, confident attitude. Now that he'd known Wesker, he could see how it'd get him far in life besides just hard studying as Birkin had always resorted to. Birkin was the real bookworm of the two. Not that he didn't think Wesker had earned his own in school, but somehow he got the feeling that it was a mixture of Wesker's grades and his social charisma that had gotten him where he was now.

After all, whenever it came to talking to Marcus, Wesker was usually the one that handled everything. Birkin put too much personal interest into his work, and so every time he tried to report on it, he always gave the bad percentages, well, badly, unlike Wesker who stated them plainly and in a fashion that sounded as if they were easily fixed.

But even then, in his longings to be more socially adept as Wesker was, Birkin also knew that Wesker needed to buckle down just a bit more when it came to his research. Always competition between the two of them, he thought. He'd won a battle earlier today in the labs with his research, and Wesker was winning a battle now with the social behaviors.

Birkin didn't ever think there'd be a defining victory between the two of them.

But for all his social graces, Birkin suddenly felt a bit more adept than he had before. The girl in the labs he'd taken his interests in. Wesker said he could only imagine feeling that kind of interest in someone else, and Birkin lifted his glass to his lips and drank from it as he thought about it. If he could actually land this girl, so to speak, he'd have something else he could easily hang over Wesker's head to prove to him that he wasn't as socially inept as had once been thought before.

But for now, Birkin didn't care to compete. He'd let Wesker have his birthday and enjoy it. After all, not everything revolved around that, so this was his time for now, this was his day. _Happy Birthday, Al_, Birkin thought to himself before slightly raising his glass and finishing the contents of it off.

Happy birthday, indeed.


	3. Of Use and Gain

_Of Use and Gain_

_August 21__st__, 1981_

The bed was rocking hard and the sounds of the sexual engagement taking place were filling the room. The sheets were ruffled and messy, the pillows were strewn about everywhere, and the bed finally stopped rocking with several hard grunts and loud moans.

Becoming still over her, Wesker could feel the sweat dripping down the side of his face. He'd gotten a bit worked up that time, and his heavy breathing was a testament to it, not to mention it was mid August and there was no air conditioning in the small apartment, just a box fan sitting on a table near by.

She was sweating too, both of them were, and not wanting to spend anymore time in the heat than he had to, he rolled off of Amy and laid on his back next to her, still recovering from his hard, yet fully satisfying orgasm.

Amy's red hair was sticking to her chest and forehead where it wasn't fanned out against the pillows, and she'd closed her eyes until he'd moved. Then she turned her head slowly and looked at him, watched him slick his damp blonde hair back over his head where it'd come out of place by his wild movements.

He'd been fairly animalistic that night, from the moment they'd gotten through the door until now, he'd been all over her. Amy hadn't minded until near the end when he'd started hurting her, fortuitously, and she knew then he was really frustrated with work more than likely.

Birkin had been driving him crazy. He'd taken some of it out on her. Amy pushed her own red hair back across her shoulders and she sat up slowly, looking at the time. Midnight. Then she looked at Wesker. He was taking slow deep breaths now, apparently fully recovered from his orgasm, and she was recovered from hers as well, so she asked him, "You're bothered?"

"Not with anything I wish to discuss at the moment."

"Fine," she replied softly, and then pushed herself up off of the edge of the bed and away from the lover who'd taken what he'd wanted from her. She needed to get a cool bath, and knew he didn't care if she did or not.

Wesker opened his eyes once she'd left the room and the door shut, leaving the bedroom in a dim darkness once again. He sighed deeply, loudly. This was the third time he'd slept with Amy over the course of the past two months, ever since just before Birkin had gone crazy.

Alexia Ashford, the ten year old prodigy, had become the head researcher of the South Pole facility, debunking Birkin's reign as youngest researcher to ever take the throne of an Umbrella Laboratory, and ever since, Birkin had been irrationally churning out experiments and ideas for experiments one after another without pause.

Wesker had taken it to Spencer personally. First he'd talked to Marcus, and Marcus had told him that Spencer didn't care. So Wesker had gone to the man directly himself. Spencer's exact words had been 'let him'.

Yet another dictation Wesker couldn't understand to save the life of him.

Spencer told Wesker they may find something within Birkin's obsessed and irrational behavior and research, and so they should just wait and let him do whatever he wanted to. Wesker remembered the words Spencer had told them earlier that year, that he wanted a completely infectious virus no matter what the cost, and so perhaps this behavior was perfectly acceptable and welcome to Spencer.

But it drove Wesker crazy in turn. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a good month now.

So when the chance rose to leave the laboratory, to leave the residency, altogether, Wesker took it, and opted to take Amy with him. He needed _something_ to take his frustrations out on after all, and Amy had been it. He'd never meant to hurt her specifically, but he just couldn't help himself. The anger and annoyance he felt over the entire situation had just come out and he had to give in to it.

Wesker could only wonder if Amy would get angry at him, however. Not that he cared in particular.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up, and put his feet on the floor. It was just too damned hot. Had he known the air conditioning in his apartment was broken, he never would have come back there, and instead, would have just gone to hers.

Though somehow he got the feeling she'd be slighted whenever he left her before the morning came as he'd done with most of the women he'd fucked. Not that he cared about that in particular either.

Still, she would have to be set straight.

The bathroom door opened just before he could get up, and Amy walked out, grabbing her clothing from the floor, and she started putting it back on. Wesker raised an eyebrow at her. "You're leaving?" He drew out casually if not dryly.

"Yes," she replied, sitting down on the bed to put her stockings back on.

Wesker tried to fight the smirk that was threatening to grace his lips, and he almost lost the battle, but he couldn't have been more pleased. So he stood up and walked toward the bathroom door.

"You're not even going to ask me to stay?" Amy asked him.

Wesker had the feeling he'd probably strung her along a bit too much by now and that she needed some reminding of how things really were between them. She'd said so herself, the first time they'd had sex, that she didn't think a relationship would work well, that they were coworkers, and that sex should be the extent of it.

So he did. "Why should I? I got what I wanted."

With that, he walked into the bathroom. Amy glared behind him. Then she turned her head with a deep sigh, a woman scorned like she was, and she muttered, "Dirtbag." But she wasn't done with simply muttering that phrase. She had something else in mind.

The 22 year old stood up from the bed she'd just sat on to replace her stockings, and then she pulled her tank top on and her skirt. From there, she found her pumps, put those back on, and at about that time, the door to the bathroom opened again, and she looked at Wesker, unshy about his nudity, and she asked him, "By the way, I'm curious about something. There's been some information left off of the files you've filled out over Birkin's work for the past few weeks. Was that inconsequential information?"

Wesker had gone toward his bed and stopped when she'd said that. He hadn't known she'd seen the files or the data on them. Looking at her with a raised brow as she stood up straight from replacing her pump, he replied, "What data?"

"Well, one was missing the results of a blood test."

Suddenly, Wesker put two and two together. Amy was going to try and use that against him for treating her like a whore essentially, using her and then throwing her to the side, and he asked, "When did you see those confidential files?"

"When you had me organize them the other day," she pointed out victoriously.

Wesker had, in fact, left some of the spaces blank on purpose, simply because he didn't agree with the direction that Birkin was going in, the way he was approaching this entire situation with Alexia Ashford, and how Spencer was handling it as well.

And what little data he _had_ left off of them had, in fact, been fairly insignificant, though leaving _any_ data off of those files was enough to cause him some very deep trouble for himself. But, he knew his way out, or thought he did anyway. "Those files haven't been finished yet."

"They were sent up to the main office yesterday," she pointed out, "they were finished." Her words had been said knowingly.

Wesker stood there and finally he did let a little smirk creep across his lips. "Then you think I falsified Birkin's information. For what purpose? To meet what end?" He asked, trying to figure out her logic behind thinking that even though he did know he was guilty of it. He hadn't yet denied or admitted to his guilt anyway, and he wouldn't until he knew all of the facts as set in her head.

"Well, you two are always so competitive, probably to try and get ahead of him somehow. But when they find out about it, it won't be so easy for you."

"And just _how_ would they find out about it," Wesker asked her, facing her completely.

"Word has its way of getting around," Amy told him plainly.

There was a phone hanging on the wall that was suddenly knocked off of its hook by Amy's head. Wesker had slammed her up against it with his fingers encompassing her throat, and he squeezed rather tightly, to keep her from screaming. "You put me in a tight spot, dear," he informed her darkly.

Amy was trying her best to pry his strong fingers from her throat but to no avail. She cringed when he only tightened the grip for a moment because of her struggles, and then let herself go still so that he would lessen it a bit. "But you give me no other choice."

She thought he was going to kill her. Her skin had gone pale. Wesker could see the fear in her eyes, and he released her throat, "I'm glad I've got your attention," he added, leaning his arms on either side of her so that she wouldn't be able to easily escape. And the way he had her pinned against the wall didn't allow her to just knee him in the groin and run. Not that it would have mattered, Wesker qualified to himself, but no, he had her legs parted around his thighs, and she was at his complete mercy now.

"You see," he went on after a silent moment, "I have something on you that should keep you in your place."

"Like what," she hissed out at him, her blue eyes staring directly at his lighter ones.

"Oh, those files you mentioned, they would just so happen to have your name attached to them as approved by you. I'm not as dense as you'd like to think, my sweet. Tell on me, and you tell on yourself. Who's to say _you_ weren't the one who removed, or even didn't add, that information."

"I _didn't_ approve those files!" She argued with him angrily.

Wesker just chuckled as he backed off of her, still naked, and still uncaring about it. "Are you certain? It sounds like a guilty conscious arguing to me, especially with the name Dr. Amy Donaldson written all over the papers."

How the hell did he do that, she wondered for a moment as she watched him moving toward a chair in the room which had his pants hanging over them which he started putting on. He was so calm and collected about the whole thing, acted as if he'd never done a thing wrong or bad in his life. And he was even younger than she was, only a year, but still younger. She continued to glare at him for a moment, and she told him, "They'll never believe I did it."

"Of course they will," Wesker replied, "especially when they find out that you've been sleeping with me, that will be icing on the cake, won't it? Hmm, why would you have done that," he asked in a mocking fashion. "Was it because you have some deep caring for me, and want to see me excel over William Birkin, or is it because you were sleeping with me as a favor to gain some more notoriety in your career. Women do it all the time, after all, and I _am_ the boss."

Amy's glare turned cold out of her own fear. Apparently he was right, he _wasn't_ dense at _all_. Amy didn't know what to say or do now.

Wesker, when he turned around to face her again, pulling up the zipper of his pants but leaving them unbuttoned, saw the confusion all over her face, and he told her, "Just keep your mouth shut about it, and no harm will come to you. But I can assure you, the moment you _do_ say something over it is the moment you're in trouble from more than what I've just said."

There was nothing she could do. Amy decided in that moment that the best thing she should do is just leave. After all, she'd have another chance to set this whole situation right later, tonight if she could.

She'd have to think about it.

So turning, she just walked away, leaving the phone hanging from the wall and shutting the front door on the way out so hard that it slammed back open again. Wesker smiled at the motion and he walked over to the phone and lifted it up, then put it back on the hanger.

He stared at the cream colored phone for a moment. The thoughts playing through his head now made him crack a big smile, and he reached for the receiver.

Pouring over some documents in the lab, Birkin almost didn't realize the phone was ringing until it'd gone on about five times. It was then that he finally picked it up and muttered a frustrated, "Hello?," quickly.

"It's Wesker," he said on the other end. Walking over to the chair he'd grabbed his pants from before, Wesker sat down and told Birkin, "Yes, I know it's late, but I have some pertinent news concerning our little assistant."

"Which assistant?" Birkin asked.

"Amy Donaldson," Wesker went on, "I think she's been tampering with some of the files of our recent projects and falsifying the information on them."

"I thought she went home with you tonight," Birkin replied, sitting the documents down that he held in his hand. "Where is she now?"

"She just left, but she may show up there a little bit later tonight. Not to mention that tonight she told me she wanted me to consider her for a promotion. I think she's a bit too colorful for our tastes. It may be best to remove her."

"Hmm," Birkin replied more thoughtfully than he had been in a while, seeing that Wesker hadn't interrupted his work for nothing when he'd called. "And why do you think she's tampered with them?"

"I caught her rummaging through my file cabinet where I'd put them the other day before they were sent up to the main office to be put with the other completed works."

"Any idea why she might be doing something like that?" Birkin asked him.

"No clue," Wesker replied, "though she did seem to be a bit clingy before she left, asked to stay with me. It could be anything, Will, but more than likely a chance for her to get herself ahead in the company. I'd feel better knowing she was taken out of the picture, I don't want this hard work we're doing to be jeopardized."

"You're right," Birkin replied, "and without Marcus's knowledge, he'll ask too many questions. What about Spencer?"

"I don't think Spencer would concern himself too much with the disappearance of a simple assistant employee," Wesker stated plainly, tilting his head back slightly. "In fact, it may be best if we just take care of this one ourselves."

"No problem," Birkin replied, "I'll have security be watching out for her tonight if she comes here. If not, then we'll just take care of it in the morning."

"Good," Wesker responded. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Good night," Birkin replied, and the both hung up the phone simultaneously.

Wesker smirked widely over the situation as he hung his phone up and then turned back to his bed. He'd shut the front door a few moments before he'd made the call, and now he simply laid onto his back on the bed with his arms up behind his head. He'd taken a slight lesson from Spencer. Spencer seemed intent on using Birkin's erratic behavior toward his work for his own gain, so Wesker had done the same. With as obsessive as Birkin was right now with his work being spotless, even though it was far from it, he wouldn't stand to let _anyone_ in his way, especially not an assistant tampering with his files.

No, he'd go after them with fervor, and without remorse, and being the man he was, he wouldn't ask questions. He'd taken Wesker's words for one hundred percent truth, and then leave all the rest behind.

Amy might not survive the night.

Spencer might not have to had made a completely infectious virus after all, Wesker thought to himself, as it seemed as if conspiracy was infectious and deadly enough on its own. The thought made Wesker snort in amusement softly. Apparently there was more than _one_ way to skin a goose.

And in that moment, when he'd had that thought, the air conditioner suddenly kicked back in. The cool breeze blowing over his balmy skin felt wonderful. In fact, Wesker couldn't have been more content in that moment. Good luck for him, it seemed.


	4. Break Time

_Break Time_

_December 30__th__, 1983_

It'd been silent in the lab for hours. Things were a bit messy at the time, but that still didn't stop him. He was going into one of his sprees again, and he didn't care for much else besides his work.

Birkin rubbed his eyes after the words on the page had become blurry from a lack of sleep, and he sat up instead of leaning on his arm at his desk like he had been. The results on the paper became clear once again, and he continued reading them.

No change, no change, failed, no change. Birkin threw the clipboard at the wall suddenly in anger. "Why isn't it working!?" He yelled loudly to no one but himself.

As the clipboard clanged against the wall and toppled over onto the floor, Birkin turned and looked at all of the other papers on his desk that read the words failure or no progress or some other similar term to them. He suddenly threw his hands down on the desk and then pushed all of the papers off of it and onto the floor, making an even bigger mess than there already was, then cussed and drew his hand back hard, squeezing it tightly.

A large sliver of wood was sticking out of his palm, and he looked at where it's come from. Surely enough, there was a missing chip of wood in the desks surface now, and Birkin reached for the sliver and pulled it out, then tossed it down with the papers he'd knocked onto the floor and grabbed the desk and pulled it over.

Once his angry outburst had subsided for the moment, he sighed a long, deep breath, and looked at his hand again. It was bleeding nicely for such a wound, and he took it over to the sink and started washing it off. As the water and soap rinsed over the cut, he cringed slightly at how it stung, and rubbed his sleep deprived eyes with his other hand.

Once he'd turned the water off, he pressed a paper towel down onto the palm of his hand where he'd cut it, and watched the white stain with red. He pulled the towel away.

As he watched his blood, he narrowed his brows and looked up. A thought had just entered his head, and he only wondered if it were possible. That's when the door opened, distracting him.

Spinning around, Birkin saw Annette, a fellow researcher, walking into the room, looking at all of the papers on the floor and the toppled over desk. "Doctor?" She asked, looking at Birkin then, "What happened?"

"Nothing," he replied right off the bat. "I just cut my hand."

"Oh, are you okay?" She asked, stopping about three feet from him.

Birkin looked at her quietly, sized her up nearly from head to foot. "Yeah," he drew out, continued to watch her for a moment. He was glad she'd come down there.

"You're still bleeding," she said when a trickle of blood made its way out from under the towel over his palm and down his wrist.

"Huh, what?" He looked at his wrist, "Oh," he replied, then moved to grab another towel, throwing the first ones away.

"Here, let me see that," Annette requested of him, and took his hand when he turned back to her.

"It's nothing," he told her as she inspected the slice across his palm.

"Yeah, but it needs to be bandaged," Annette replied, looking back at his face and smiling just a bit. "By the way, you need to shave," she added, reaching to the first aide kit above the sink. Birkin watched her quietly without a word to her comment of his needing to shave, and let her pull out the items she needed to take care of his hand with.

Once Annette had gotten everything out, she swept her blonde hair over her shoulder and started pulling out some antiseptic and some ointment with Umbrella Logos on them, taking his hand and cleaning it up again.

Birkin watched her quietly the whole time. She was very gentle with his hand, didn't hurt him once, and with his head somewhat close to hers as she finished off, she looked at him and smiled, saying, "There you go."

He smiled back, "Thank you, Annette." It was then that he remembered the time and he looked at the clock. Seeing it was almost midnight, he asked, "What are you still doing here?"

She shrugged, "Getting my work done. You've been doing a lot lately, and I wanted to get it finished before I went home for the night."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he told her, realizing he had been putting an awfully large work load on most of them all lately. "Why don't you just go ahead and go home, I'll finish up here."

"No, I'm fine, really," he replied, "I just don't relish the thought of a lot of paperwork to do in the morning."

"I said I'll handle it," he reiterated. "Go home, get some rest."

She was quiet for a moment, but then Annette asked him somewhat skeptically, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he smiled at her, moving out of her way of the door, "I'm sure."

"Alright," she drew out, moving toward it, looking at him the whole way, "I'm really gonna go then."

Birkin just smiled back and he nodded. "Go on."

"I'm going," she drew out.

"Bye," he chuckled slightly.

"Bye," Annette gave back, smirking now herself, and she left the room, disappearing from sight. As soon as she did, Birkin's smile faded and his face returned to that of the sour mood he'd been in before. He glanced back down at the mess on the floor waiting to be cleaned up, and he just rolled his eyes and walked out of the room himself, heading up to the office Annette had been working in before.

Annette, he thought as he opened the door and walked into the room where her paper work was sitting out. He really hadn't paid much attention to her lately. But he didn't have the time to. Sitting down behind the desk, he looked over the work she'd done to see where she was, and he started continuing it.

While he wrote, he thought more about her. Pretty hair, pretty eyes, and an intelligent brain to match. Over the past few years he'd grown to appreciate her more and more, and now he thought she was damned near perfect.

But work called for him, and he wanted to get all of that done first. After all, if he didn't, he might've been stuck in this rut he'd gotten himself into forever. And all because of the brat's achievements. He sincerely hated her. Alexia Ashford. He scoffed at the name.

One of these days she'd mess up severally down there. And when she did, he'd be right there laughing at her. He couldn't wait.

He also couldn't stay awake either. He fell asleep on the desk without meaning to. It wasn't until the next morning when someone found him, and that someone was Dr. Marcus.

Marcus had been confused and curious about why the man had fallen asleep at the desk, but Birkin told him he'd just gotten caught up doing file work and dozed off without meaning to. So he finished the work up there and then left the office to go to the residency so he could shave as Annette had suggested he needed and get a change of clothing.

It got to be around noon time, and the lunch break came around. Sitting in the laboratory, the doors opened as most of the researchers left to get their lunch breaks, and Birkin, as always, remained to do some more work on his experiments. Used to everyone walking out on him at about that time, he didn't realize that someone had actually walked in.

Birkin lifted his head back from the microscope once he was done looking at what was in the glass slide when he saw a paper being held before his head. Narrowing his brows, he glanced back to see Wesker standing there behind him, and he asked, "What?"

"It's a fax we just received from the south pole facility. Go ahead, read it."

Birkin wasn't sure he wanted to hear it, so he reached up a bit hesitantly and then looked down at the paper. Wesker stood back and let him, lifting a brow and waiting for his response.

Birkin had to read it twice to make sure he'd understood it right. Then he looked up at Wesker somewhat incredulously. "This is someone's idea of a prank," he asked as if he weren't amused.

"Oh yes, William," Wesker started, "some of the researchers and myself thought it'd be hilarious if we flew down to the south pole and back just to have this fake note sent here."

Birkin blinked a few times. Then he asked, "She's dead?"

"It would seem so," Wesker replied, turning and moving over to the microscope Birkin had been peering through before he looked back at him, "died of her own creation in an accident."

Wesker's brows narrowed at the sight of the mans back. He appeared to be shaking. What in the world? "Will? You're not broken up, are you?" The question had been as dry as they came.

That's when the sound of laughter hit his ears. Wesker rolled his eyes slightly, but he did smirk in amusement over the sight. Birkin leaned on the table next to himself and actually had to wipe a tear from his eye. That's when Wesker noticed the bandage as well, "What happened to your hand?"

"Nothing," Birkin chuckled out, "not a damned thing."

"Indeed," Wesker replied. Then he stepped away from the tables and told Birkin as he walked to the door, "Seeing as you're not too emotionally overburdened, I'll cancel any flowers I was going to have sent to the facility in your name. You should probably come to the lobby. It _is_ break time, after all." Now that Birkin had no one to compete with really, Wesker thought, he'd probably want to take his first break from work in over two years.

Break time, Birkin thought to himself. Yeah, he could use one of those. And he could also stand to find Annette as well and spend it with her.

Setting the paper down on the table behind him, he made his way out of the room and in behind Wesker saying, "Hey, wait up."

It looked like the man had already returned to most of his normal self.


	5. The Best Man

_The Best Man_

_July 27__th__, 1985_

Wesker was staring at the envelope in his hands. The fancy font, the white paper, the golden seal on the envelope.

Behind his shades, his eyes rolled up and around to the side.

It was a wedding invitation. He sighed and placed the card on the table along with the junk mail he'd received that day. Putting it out of his mind for the moment, he continued shuffling through the other items in his possession now and once he realized that most of it but two things were junk, he placed the two important letters on his desk, and then turned around to walk back to the junk pile and throw them out.

Gathering them all up, a knock came to the door, and he spoke simply, "Come in."

Birkin pushed the door open and looked inside. "Not busy, are you?"

"Not at the moment," Wesker informed him, deciding that he wouldn't be able to throw away the wedding invitation as stealthily as he'd intended to, considering it was on the top of all of the envelopes he held in his hand.

Birkin walked over and looked at it, "I see you got Annette's letter."

Wesker lifted a brow. Annette, he knew, had fashioned these envelopes, however he didn't think, considering the previous events between them, that she'd send one to him. "Was it your idea?" Wesker asked him, wondering if Birkin had any hand in it at all.

"Of course, why wouldn't I invite you to my wedding?"

"Why _would_ you?" Wesker returned, setting the rest of his junk mail in the garbage, and then opening the invitation to see when the 'enchanting' event was to take place.

Birkin snorted, "Actually, all things considered," he started, lifting his arms up and crossing them over his chest, "I wanted you to be the best man."

Wesker was glad he'd turned at that moment to throw away the junk mail before he'd started opening the letter because he got a very blank look on his face that he couldn't have helped even if he'd wanted to.

Birkin went on, "You're the closest thing I have to a good friend, so I thought it was fitting, considering I want to do it right for Annette."

Wesker's expression couldn't have got anymore bland or annoyed. Reaching up and rubbing his forehead, trying to get the disposition off of his face, he turned around and said, "Really? Well, the date's a bad one."

"What do you mean, it's next week, and you don't have anything planned."

"I had wanted to work late that night. _Very_ late," he drew out pointedly.

Birkin knew what he was getting at then. Wesker didn't want to go. With a slight smirk, Birkin shrugged, "Well, in that case, if you're not interested..." he trailed off.

Wesker's jaw flexed a slight bit in his agitation. He knew exactly what Birkin was getting at. Birkin thought he was jealous and that was the reason why he didn't want to go. With a slow draw of breath, Wesker told him, "I'm just curious on how much the tux is going to cost. That's all."

"Oh, well if it's money you're worried about, don't, Annette's father is splurging for the whole thing, he's paying for it."

"Ah," Wesker drew out simply, hating the man for it. "I would like to help out," he told Birkin, lying through his teeth, something he practiced often. But anything was better than letting Birkin think he was jealous of him for marrying a woman who'd cheat on him when she'd admitted beforehand that she hoped things between herself and her boyfriend, being Birkin, were going to get more serious soon.

In fact, now that Wesker thought of it, even though it'd be a personal victory, he'd like to see Birkin tying the knot with such a woman. The thought gave him the smile he needed to make the lie he'd just told seem completely convincing.

"Good," Birkin nodded, "it makes me feel better anyway."

"I can imagine. I wouldn't want to be presented in such a fashion in front of so many people either."

Birkin sighed. "Well, I love her, so it's worth it," he told Wesker before he said, "Thanks." Then he turned and walked to the door.

"Will," Wesker stopped him. Watching Birkin turn back around, Wesker was smirking at him slightly, and he said, "Congratulations."

Birkin nodded, a little smile on his face, and he opened the door to leave again. Once he had, Wesker breathed a deep breath through his nose and grumbled slightly. The last wedding he'd been to had been his father second marriage, and that was something he really didn't want to think about.

And the event started taking place right on time. It was three o'clock, and cars were pulling up to the church. Church, Wesker scoffed, standing in one of the dressing rooms usually reserved for the members of the choir. Wesker never had a use for church, and neither did Birkin apparently. But this was being paid for mostly by Annette's family, and they apparently had a tie with the pastor's family, in that the pastor's father had wed her own mother and father years and years ago.

Wesker looked at his hands, gloved in black, and then glanced at himself in the mirror. He reached up and straightened the white bow tie, the undershirt being white as well, but the coat and pants being black, and he made sure he was presentable. He even reached up and removed his shades, placing them in his pocket because he wanted to be as formal as possible.

Apparently Annette's family was full of rich, well-to-do people. So they may not take kindly to his wearing shades on such an occasion, yet another reason he wished it were outside. That'd give him a good excuse. Either way though, he didn't care too much in particular. It's not as if his shades were glued to his face.

The door opened behind him. He thought it was Birkin or someone similar, but he was surprised to see a white wedding gown in the reflection behind him, and he turned to look at the bride. A small smirked formed across his lips, and he asked, "Can't find William? Or are you here for an entirely different reason."

Annette stared at Wesker. She couldn't help it. She had so many things going through her head she didn't know where to start. But finally, she got out, "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

She stepped away from the door to prevent anyone from hearing her, and moved in closer to him, "You know what I mean. Why are you being the best man? Why are you even here to begin with?"

"If you're thinking I'm going to object to the pastor when he asks for anyone to say what they will or hold their peace, however he phrases it, then you needn't worry."

Annette continued staring at him, a stare he never broke, her brows narrowed, her lips drawn somewhat downward in a slight frown. He remembered what they looked like when they were smiling, in pleasure. The thought nearly made him laugh.

"I'm just trying to understand your reasoning on being the best man here today, I know you don't have some kind of friendly affection for Will that's drawing you here."

"On the contrary, Will and I are good friends."

"Bullshit!" She tried to calm herself down at the somewhat loudly spoken word and then took a deep breath. "Stop lying to me, tell me the truth."

Finally, Wesker decided to let her in on the truth, and slowly turning back to the mirror, his smirk in place, he began to straighten the handkerchief in his coat pocket and said to her, "Simple, I'll gain another personal victory by seeing him wed to you, an unfaithful woman who's as trustworthy as a con artist."

Annette panicked. She couldn't help herself, and in her desperation, she grabbed his hand, "You're not going to tell him, are you?" That was the pinnacle of what she wanted to know, what she _needed_ to know.

Wesker looked down at her hand, then up at her. He lifted his own hand and patted her in a mocking fashion of comfort, and she pulled her hand away from his quickly. "No, you don't need to worry with that either, Annette. I don't wish to ruin my victory by letting him know directly afterwards of your infidelity with me and then have him leave you. After all, we work together, it'd drive a steak through us as well, and that's not something I need either. You really should think before you leap. I'd rather see him settled with you then against _both_ of us."

Annette couldn't help the way she felt at his words. Half relief, half insult. She watched him quietly until he was done straightening his outfit out, and then she shook her blonde head at him, "You really are a cold, heartless man."

"It's good to see you've got your memory back," Wesker told her plainly, "but cold and heartless would have entailed me admitting the truth to William back when we first had our little affair."

Annette sighed. "What happened was a mistake. But somehow, knowing the competition between you two, I wouldn't be surprised if you'd planned it from the beginning, a way for you to feed your own ego. Am I right?"

Wesker lifted a brow at her, "Do you _really_ want to know the answer to that question?"

Annette was quiet for the moment. Just as she'd opened her mouth to say something, the door opened behind her, and her father looked in, "Annie, are you ready to go? It's nearly five o'clock now."

Annette looked at her father and she nodded, picking up her skirts and walking back to the door, "Yeah, Daddy, I'm ready."

Wesker watched her leaving. When she went to walk out of the room, she gave him one final look, an unhappy one, that said she didn't like him one bit. But she knew she'd have to get along with him in the future, knowing the important man he was, and what he was holding over her head. She loved William so much, she wouldn't let Wesker ruin it for herself and him. She left with the thought that she'd never be the bad wife Wesker was claiming that she was.

Wesker chuckled softly as he walked toward the door not long after and was almost immediately greeted by Birkin in the hallway. The two men both walked to the chapel to get ready to go, and they took their places at the podium, waiting for the women to come down the isle one by one in succession.

Wesker glanced out over the viewers in the crowd. He thought it was a bit ridiculous, Dr. Marcus was there. Why, he had no idea. Perhaps as a kind of publicity and reputation stunt. Then again, as stern as the doctor could be, he did seem to have a place for both Wesker and Birkin as if the two were his prodigies. Wesker tilted his head slightly at the thought. He supposed the man felt it was a duty to give an appearance during the occasion, otherwise people may begin to think ill of him.

He wondered, if he hadn't attended this occasion, if people would have begun to think the same of him.

Then the music changed and everyone stood up, looking back. Escorted by her father, Annette began to walk down the isle. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Wesker thought of the evening he and Annette had spent together when Birkin had been out of town. Annette couldn't have been more right.

Birkin had been holding the relationship over Wesker's head cryptically. Wesker had become annoyed. So seducing Annette into bed was just as good of anything he could have done to prove that, well, Birkin's success in finding a female he wished to spend his time on and who wanted to return that time were nothing significant.

And he'd done so. Now, every time Birkin got to a point that he was gloating over Annette, Wesker just smiled and told him he was lucky.

He only wondered if, one day, Annette would tell him the truth herself. But from the display earlier in the dressing room, Wesker sincerely doubted it.

No matter. Wesker watched the ceremony with interest, watched his colleague tying the knot with the woman, and of course, got a perverse satisfaction over knowing what he knew and that Birkin was in the dark about the entire thing.

At the reception, Wesker was a slight bit surprised. Given his distaste for being Marcus's company longer than he had to be, especially outside of the work environment, Wesker found himself mostly sticking with Marcus throughout the whole thing. They typically just stood back in the corner quietly, and they didn't say much of anything to anyone, not wanting to, and not caring to.

But there were other Umbrella employees there, most of them having a good time however. And one of the bride's maids, a woman who was Wesker's age, came over and asked, "Pardon me, Dr. Wesker?"

Wesker turned his head toward her, his shades having been replaced by now, and he lifted his brow to tell her to continue.

"Um," she started, seeming a little bit nervous as she wrenched her hands together, "they were wondering if you, being the best man, would like to give a toast to the bride and groom."

Wesker remained silent for a moment. He'd forgotten about that little tradition, and he wondered how good of an idea it was.

When he continued to not say anything to the woman, she said, "Excuse me," and ran off quickly. Wesker sighed and looked ahead again.

Marcus lifted a brow at his employee, and he leaned back against the wall. Wesker finally pushed himself away with a deep breath and walked over to the table where Birkin and Annette were seated. Birkin looked back when the shadow loomed over him, and he spoke, "Al, good of you to join us finally. I was just telling Edward that you were a slight bit introverted socially."

That wasn't a lie. Wesker shrugged a bit and looked at Edward, being Annette's father, and he spoke, "Well, nevertheless, I've decided to give a toast to the bride and groom, being the best man as I am."

Edward smiled, "Good man, let's hear it."

Oh the things Wesker could say, he thought to himself, and then reached down for a fork and took a goblet from a passing server, filled with Champagne. He began tapping the fork against the glass, making a loud pinging noise that silenced everyone else and got their attentions.

Annette wanted to just die in that moment. She had a bad feeling about this. He was going to say something, she just knew it.

"Friends and family of the bride and groom," Wesker started, going by improvisation, though you wouldn't be able to tell it just by listening to him or looking at him. "I'd like to make a toast to the union of this couple."

Everyone raised their glasses and Wesker went on. "I've known both of them for a while now, quite a few years in fact, and I know that if Will puts his energy forth into this marriage the way he treats his work, it will never fail." The words were spoken a slight bit blandly.

Several people started chuckling. Birkin was amused to no end. Seeing Wesker of all people doing something like this was a sight you just couldn't miss. Wesker went on, "I know a little less of his new wife, but I know has the same devotion. So here's to a long and happy life between the two of them as husband and wife."

"Here, here," several people called out, and then they all sipped their drinks, including Wesker. The ironic thing was, he thought, he'd meant every word of it.

Birkin reached his hand out and shook Weskers, saying, "Thank you," professionally.

"It's not a problem," Wesker replied before he set his goblet down onto the table, and then heard Edward commenting something that made him stop.

"That's a strange dialect you have, Dr. Wesker. Where are you from."

Wesker tilted his head slightly, and then said, "Germany," before he trailed off, "originally," he added.

"Ah, moved around a lot I see."

"That would be a proper assumption."

"I visited England several times," Edward began, "that's why I asked. I've never heard a dialect as particular as yours."

"Well, it's nice to stand out," Wesker told the man plainly, "excuse me." He was tired of his attempts at keeping him at the table. Once he left, Edward glanced at Birkin and shook his head slightly.

"That's one interesting fellow there, that Dr. Wesker."

Birkin simply smirked, chuckling softly, "He does indeed take the cake."


	6. Moving Away From Everything

_Moving Away from Everything_

_May 10__th__, 1988_

"This man's crazy," Birkin muttered, reading through a magazine as he sipped his coffee.

Wesker looked up. It was noon, lunch time, and he asked, "Who?"

Sitting at the bar in the training facility, a few other researchers about, one of them using the lift to go up to the clock room with a fellow coworker, Birkin set his mug down on the bar and said, "This geneticist. He says we'll be able to achieve a perfect human clone within the next ten years and has only failed every attempt he's ever made to even create a perfectly cloned human cell."

Birkin turned the page chuckling, and even Wesker smirked over the story. He glanced back down at his own mug and replied, "I think where some people are disillusioned with failure, others are with their own unattainable success."

"But of course," Birkin scoffed, continuing to look the article over. "Do they really think we'll be advanced enough to make carbon copies of ourselves by 1998? It's impossible."

"That's the reasoning of a geneticist for you."

"I'll remain a viral bioengineer, thank you."

Both men thought it was amusing.

The door to the room opened and a woman stuck her head around the corner, "Excuse me, Dr. Birkin, your wife's on the phone."

Birkin nodded and sipped his coffee, setting his drink down. Standing up, he told her, "I'll take it in here," and walked around the bar to grab the phone behind it, setting it on the counter before he took the call. As he did so, Wesker reached for the magazine and looked through some of the articles in it, only casually listening to Birkin's conversation.

"What's wrong?" Birkin's brows narrowed. "Well, yeah, I know she's teething. She won't stop crying? Have you given her the teething ring?"

Wesker lifted a brow over the one sided conversation he could hear from Birkin, and Birkin went on, "My mother said she used to put a thimble full of rum into my bottle to ease the pain."

Wesker stopped sipping his coffee and looked at Birkin, raising a brow. Then he set the mug down, "Rum?"

Birkin rolled his eyes, putting his hand over the receiver, "We're out of Tylenol."

Wesker let him continue his conversation and looked back down, a slight shake of his head given. He wondered for a moment what viral bioengineer had rum in his house but not Tylenol. The thought actually made him chuckle softly for once.

Hearing the chuckle, Birkin sighed and turned away from Wesker, saying, "Then call the pediatrician. He should know what to do."

Once they'd said their goodbyes, and Birkin had hung up the phone again, Wesker asked, "Is Sherry alright?"

Birkin looked back at Wesker reading over the article in the magazine, and he took his own mug of coffee, sighing, "She's teething still, and Annette says she has a slight fever too."

"How old is she now? Two?"

"Yes, 27 months or so." Birkin sat back down in his chair, having walked around the bar again, and he leaned back slightly.

It was then that Wesker had a thought. Narrowing his brows a bit, he looked up, "27 months. She was born in February, and you were married in July."

Birkin raised a brow, "Your point?"

"Was she pregnant when you were married?"

Birkin glanced down at his mug and stirred the contents of it around in his hand for a moment before replying, "Yeah, she was." He didn't have much else to say besides that, except, "I knew, so I asked her to marry me."

"I see," Wesker replied somewhat dully, then sipped his own coffee again, finishing it off. It was at that moment that the same woman who'd interrupted them before stuck her head around the corner of the door and she said this time, "Doctors?"

"What is it now, Mary?" Birkin asked a bit agitated.

"Mr. Spencer's on the line. He wants to speak with one of you, but he said preferably Dr. Wesker."

Wesker lifted a brow and set his mug down, looking at her with a nod. Then he placed the magazine on the table and reached out for the phone Birkin had left on the counter, grabbing the right line and putting the receiver to his ear, "Wesker here."

Birkin watched him quietly. He drank the rest of his coffee and sat the mug down, then waited somewhat impatiently to see what Spencer had to say. Wesker's face remained stoic however, no emotion anywhere on his face. Birkin wished the man wasn't like that, always set in stone, it made the suspense nearly unbearable.

"I see," Wesker replied to whatever Spencer had just said, "and you want us to see to it personally." He got quiet again for a few moments. Then he sat back and said, "Consider it done."

Wesker reached out to hang up the phone, and Birkin shook his head, "Well? What'd he say?"

Wesker slowly turned his head to look at Birkin. Whatever it was, Birkin could tell it was serious. Wesker never got that look on his face unless it was business alone. Standing up, he said, "Come with me."

Birkin stood up right behind him and followed him out of the door.

It was seven o'clock in the evening. Dr. Marcus was working hard on his research, not missing a beat, and with one of his leaches laying out before him, he used the forceps to open a slice in the skin he'd just made when he heard a loud crash and gasped, looking at the doors where two fully armed men had just crashed into the room.

"What!?" He gasped as he saw their weapons aiming at him and only heard the sound of gunfire as a reply, along with the piercing, ripping pain of bullets tearing their way through his flesh. He could feel his entire body vibrating because of it as well, as if his body had suddenly been transformed into a sponge for the bullets, the vials near him exploding, microscopes being ruined and destroyed to bits.

The sound stopped, and though it'd seemed as if it'd lasted a lifetime, it had only been a few seconds. With nothing seeming to hold his body up now, Marcus felt a weight pulling him down, and in a continued fit to stand on his own two feet as he'd been able to do just a few moments before, he grabbed the edge of the table as he fell onto his back, and pulled over the leach specimen he'd just been working on, which toppled its way over onto the floor near his face.

Taking shallow breaths now, filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood, Marcus stared at the door, the only place he could see now, as he felt the life slowly draining from his body, leaving him unable to move.

Two more people walked into the room, past the assassins who'd just broken in on him as the turned to run out once they new people had come in there, and finally able to glance up at their faces, he could see Birkin and Wesker, standing right beside each other.

Birkin was smirking somewhat, but Wesker still looked the same. Leaning over, he only muttered the words, "Time to die, doctor," a smirk lining his lips after the statement had been made.

"I will take over your research," Birkin added, and then started laughing, a sound that echoed out with his words in Marcus's dying ears.

Trying to get out more than he could, Marcus garbled on his own blood for a moment before he simply and only got out the names, "Birkin...Wesker..."

His vision went blurry and then everything went black.

Standing up straight again, Wesker looked back at Birkin who'd sobered up from his amused laughter just a moment before, happy that he was able to take over Marcus's research. Birkin looked at him as well and listened as Wesker said, "We'll dispose of the body in the waste treatment plant below the facility."

Birkin nodded, still smiling, and told Wesker, "I'll have the arrangements taken care of myself," and then he turned to walk to the door.

Wesker watched him go, and then he looked back at the broken body on the floor. He lifted a brow. Several things were going through his head at that moment. Several things.

Turning his eyes away, he straightened his lab coat out and then moved away from the body, away from the scene, away from the room.

Away from everything.


	7. Ask and Ye Shall Receive

_Ask and Ye Shall Receive_

_July 15__th__, 1988_

Birkin didn't think he'd ever seen Wesker so adamant about something. It was slightly, well, very intimidating. The man definitely had a fearsome streak in him.

But Birkin had stood his ground. And the conversation had started out simply enough. They hadn't even been at work when the events of the day started. In fact, they hadn't even been together at the beginning of the day. Birkin was called out to do something on an emergency notice with Annette, and due to the quickness of the situation that had arisen so suddenly, an accident in the lab, they needed someone to watch Sherry.

Birkin never would have asked Wesker in a million years to watch his daughter for him unless he absolutely had no other choice, but this was one of those million year instances. It was Birkin's team, and ultimately Birkin's responsibility.

The mishap with Birkin's team made it all worthwhile to Wesker. After all, it was another one of those competitive things between them that they always, or usually anyway, left unspoken.

Annette was almost overly demanding that Wesker not watch their daughter, but in the end, even though she tried to threateningly warn Wesker, she had no choice either. Having no time to lose, they got into the car and left for the facility promptly.

Wesker just walked into the house casually, dressed in a regular black button up shirt with short sleeves and a pair of black khaki's. Sherry was apparently asleep, but he opened the door to her bedroom anyway and looked in on the two year old, made his way to her crib quietly.

She had a crown of soft blonde hair and her thumb was sticking in her mouth. What an innocent picture, Wesker thought to himself, just waiting for the world to corrupt it. With that thought, his brow raised and he decided to leave the girl alone, hoping she'd sleep most of the time her parents were away.

None of the neighbors were home, another reason Birkin didn't call on one of them. But Wesker would be watching for when they were, and hoping that if Sherry _didn't_ sleep until her parents got home that she'd sleep until the neighbors were.

But as it turned out, she didn't, and Wesker heard the pinging of a bell coming from her room as he'd been sitting on the couch, looking over one of Birkin's many biology books. Wesker then closed the book and stood up, going to the bedroom door and peering through the crack in it that came from it being slightly opened.

She was sitting in her crib with a xylophone, tapping the stick down against it. As it dinged, she grinned and snickered, then hit it again, finally stopping and deciding that her mouth was the best place for the stick, started chewing on it.

Wesker wasn't sure what to think.

Sherry turned her big blue eyes to the door, seeing a shadow, and she stood up, dropping the stick and holding herself up by grabbing the edges of the crib. "Dada," she called out.

"Could be," Wesker muttered softly, but didn't move, knowing she'd seen the shadow. He only prayed she wouldn't start crying if he didn't go in there.

He didn't honestly believe this was his daughter however. Of course, he'd slept with Annette, but with as dramatic as the woman could be sometimes, he would have guessed that the moment she'd found out, she would have cornered him in a room somewhere and told him, or had an abortion considering her affinity and affection for Birkin. No, this more than likely _wasn't_ his daughter.

"Dada," she drew out more loudly. "Mama!? Doody dit!"

Wesker wondered if that was english. She repeated the phrase, "Doooo..." she drew out, "Dooody dit!" Her eyes were wide as she stared at the door and bobbed up and down as if she'd been drinking, or was doing a silly little dance.

Wesker had no idea children of that age could be so amusing.

But that's when a knock came to the front door and Wesker heard someone calling out, "Annette? Will?"

Deciding he'd best let them in, he moved to the door and explained the situation. The woman, who was a neighbor, was more than willing to relieve him of his temporary duties as a babysitter, and Wesker couldn't have thanked the woman more, even though he didn't do very much work to begin with.

Leaving the house, he got back to his original day at hand, and put his mind back where it needed to be.

Working the second shift that day, Birkin had stopped by while he was at his desk now, having completely forgotten the events of earlier with Sherry, and was simply reading a paper. When he caught the movements of Birkin entering in through the open door, however, he asked, "Was everything okay this morning?"

"Yes," Birkin replied, though he looked a bit agitated. "A vial broke. If it hadn't been inside the casing, the T Virus would be everywhere right now. But thankfully it was. What about you? Did Sherry give you a problem."

"Not in the slightest," Wesker replied. "She's very well behaved."

"Thanks again," Birkin told him without hesitation and sat down across from his desk in the chair in front of it. "So, what is that?"

Birkin had realized in that moment that every word Wesker had spoken seemed to be a bit cold, emotionless, as if he were bothered by something. He could have only guessed it was caused by the paper he held in his hands. Wesker put it down and let Birkin see the words on the top of it. Wesker told him, "Projection sheets from the Umbrella Facilities in Europe."

"And?"

Wesker sighed, "They're doing far better than we are when it comes to production and budget estimates, _much_ better."

Birkin grumbled over it. Sitting back and deciding this was the best time of any to talk to him about it, he asked Wesker, "So, what do you propose we do, Al? Anything?"

Wesker stayed stoic for a moment. Then he stood up, "First of all, if you haven't already, I propose we take care of the incompetency about causing accidents like what happened this morning."

"I took care of it," Birkin replied as Wesker stopped at the window and looked out of it. "What else?"

Wesker tilted his head forward and then he looked back, "I want a sample of the Nemesis Parasite they're working with. If we could get our hands on it, it would do wonders for our research here."

Birkin was already shaking his head no before Wesker had even finished. "It won't help, Wesker. What are we going to do with a brand new parasite to research? Set our teams back even more with a brand new work load?"

Wesker had had enough of Birkin's denials. He'd taken it once, but this time he wasn't going to. "Maybe it would set back _your_ team, but not mine."

Birkin was even more irritated now, and he stood up as well, "Just because _my_ team is actually working on worthwhile things that are progressing steadily."

The two came to a stand still. Birkin was a bit more animated however as he turned and moved his arm up in an agitated gesture, brushing his hair back across his head. Wesker just remained still.

Finally, however, he took a step toward Birkin, followed by another, until he was standing right by the man. "I'm getting that parasite no matter what the cost, Birkin."

"Christ," Birkin muttered, though he had to admit he'd never seen Wesker so adamant. Usually he was so reserved, but now he was nearly demanding. No, Birkin corrected, he _was_ demanding. "You really think you'll be able to get it?"

Wesker lifted a brow, and then he told Birkin, "Watch me," and walked out the door.

It hit Birkin all at once, he was about to go directly to Spencer, who was in town at the moment, and Birkin went to the door, "Hey, Wesker," he called out, but Wesker didn't stop, and headed straight down the hallway and in the direction of Spencer's office.

The pen was being drawn across the paper neatly in the quiet office, continuing to move just as slowly as the door opened suddenly.

Wesker walked in behind the man sitting in his chair, back facing him, and uncaring what he was doing at the moment, Wesker said, "I want the Nemesis Prototype."

Spencer made no moves to address him at first, and only dabbed his pen in the ink barrel again and started writing once more. "That's a rather high demand, Albert, don't you think you're being a bit rash? Unlike you."

Wesker took a deep, slow breath quietly, thinking about that for a moment. But he knew, ever since Marcus's death, he had to do something more, otherwise he was going to be useless, and cut off the same way. He needed the prototype, for his own success, and he could already feel his talents as a researcher being washed up and dried out and stretched into nothing.

Finally, he told his superior, "I believe it's well within reason."

Spencer continued to write quietly. After a moment, he said, "Well, you've never been one to act without thinking. You usually see it through in your head first. So, what's the reason?"

"Because we need it," Wesker told him.

"We? Or you?"

"Both," he replied without missing a beat.

Once again, Spencer got quiet. By this time, Birkin had come around to the outside of the room, and was listening from just outside the doorway. Spencer reached up and grabbed a piece of wax after folding an envelope closed, and he used a lighter to melt the wax, one that looked a bit old. Then he rubbed some of the melted wax on the envelope before stamping it with his families seal.

Finally, he stood up, gathering some things together on his desk, a bit shorter than Wesker in stance, and he asked, "You're certain?"

"I am."

This time, Spencer didn't hesitate. "Very well, Albert. I'll see what I can do for you." He turned around and faced him, the reflection in Wesker's shades a bit warbled, but Spencer went on, "After all, I think you're right. Your team could use a bit more of a challenge than it's been getting. Now, if you'll excuse me." He walked past Wesker and out of the office, ignoring Birkin on the way to the patio outside.

Birkin watched him leaving, and then he walked into the room where Wesker was, and watched Wesker turning around. Birkin lifted his brows at the man. "Ask and ye shall receive," Birkin commented plainly.

Wesker didn't have much of a response for him, except, "Sometimes," before he left the room himself, Birkin standing there alone in deep thought for a few moments afterwards.


	8. Perfect Human

_Perfect Human_

_October 21__st__, 1988_

Birkin was impressed. He'd never seen a death list so long.

But Wesker had been right in that the nemesis prototype was both fairly interesting and a challenge. Spencer had pulled through for them and the parasite had arrived in the middle of August. But the death toll it caused kept rising and the results kept lowering.

None of the hosts could handle it, it seemed. Birkin had gone back home for the evening and left Wesker to his work, having wanted to spend some time with his daughter. He somehow felt safe enough at the moment, with the constant failures going on, to take a slight sort of break and see his daughter.

Birkin held the little girl while she slept on him, the evening late, and had spent most of his time reading to her. She'd gone to sleep, and now he was on the couch, just sitting there thinking to himself quietly. Annette was also asleep in the bedroom, so he didn't feel the need to get up and go talk to her.

He knew of her infidelities with Wesker now, had known since not long after Sherry was born. But there'd never been a doubt in his mind that Sherry was his daughter, never.

At first he'd been quite angry. Annette had been afraid she'd made a big mistake by telling him. He'd been gone all night, and she only wondered if it was to confront Wesker. But Birkin came home in the morning and went directly to his daughters room where he told her he'd never hurt her or leave her or her mother.

He wanted his daughter to grow up in a good environment, be able to think for herself intelligently without some kind of childhood trauma related to her parents having split up clouding her thoughts, and all of that aside, he still loved Annette anyway.

It was a mistake, she'd said, and Birkin knew mistakes happened. It'd been before they'd become completely serious together, though Birkin had always been serious about her. Even back when he was 19, he remembered harboring feelings for her, so he'd taken the blow hard. In fact, he'd gone to Wesker's home and sat outside in his car, a gun sitting in the passengers seat. He'd been drinking just a slight bit that night at Jack's bar, not his usual scene, and then found himself there, waiting, doing nothing.

As more time went on, Birkin had sobered up, and he knew he wouldn't have just gone in and killed Wesker, not with everything going on around them. It'd been over a year ago after all, and Birkin somehow knew Annette was telling the truth when she'd said she'd never gone back to him, it'd only been a one time thing that shouldn't have ever happened.

Birkin believed her. He had to. She'd ricked her marriage with him to tell him the truth, and that meant she was trying to make things right.

Sherry hiccuped slightly in her sleep and moved a bit. The sound drew Birkin from his thoughts and he looked at her, turned his head and kissed her cheek, whispering, "Go back to sleep, pumpkin."

She got still again, and he smiled. He really was very proud of his daughter. She was smart for her age, and he couldn't have been more pleased. Once she got still again, his thoughts went back to Wesker.

He wasn't angry with the man. He didn't know what his reasoning had been for sleeping with Annette, not completely anyway, but he guessed perhaps it'd been some kind of tempting thing, forbidden fruit or some such other form of arousing thought. Though Birkin never knew Wesker to act on the spur of the moment.

But the man was, after all, human and imperfect. Everyone made mistakes. Birkin guessed this was one of Weskers.

Annette told him the day they were married that Wesker said he wouldn't want to tell Birkin because he didn't want to drive a steak between their relationship, either business wise or other, and Birkin knew Wesker was right, it didn't need to be done. So once he'd calmed down from his anger, he'd decided to continue on as normal. He'd look at it as if Annette was simply a fling Wesker had, as he'd had so many since Birkin had known the man. A fling that happened before Birkin had come along.

And in a way, it did. Birkin had taken his time in coming around to Anette. So he could live with that.

Annette was so happy when Birkin had come home that morning. Birkin smiled a bit at the memory. Birkin liked to think himself better than the average man, and he had a good thing with his wife, so he'd forgive her. He'd even forgive Wesker. And in doing so, he'd keep his marriage and his child, and his good job. He'd be an object of jealousy to other people.

Just like always.

So when the phone rang, and Birkin heard Wesker's voice on the other end, he didn't yell angry words at him, like always. Instead he just picked up the phone to keep it from waking his daughter and asked softly, "Hello?"

"It's disappeared."

"What's disappeared?" Birkin asked, confused.

"The parasite."

Not two hours later, Birkin was back in the office, looking over some blood samples from Lisa Trevor. Wesker, in his desperation to make the parasite work, had injected her with it, and then lost all traces of it inside her body. Birkin couldn't blame the man, Lisa had so many viral injections throughout the years that she'd never died from that it stood to reason she'd be able to take the parasite into her body without it killing her and be able to control it.

Wesker waited quietly while Birkin looked through the microscope at the blood sample. Birkin shook his head a bit standing back, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"What do you see?" Wesker asked him. "Nothing?"

"No, there's something there," Birkin replied, leaning forward and taking a look at it again. "There's _definitely_ something there. I'm going to have to run some more tests though before I can be sure what it is. Compare it to some of her old blood tests."

"Alright," Wesker replied, "I can have those drawn up if you'd like."

"Yeah, go ahead, this is intriguing."

Wesker turned to leave the room, and Birkin continued to look through the device at the blood in it. "What have you done for us today, Ms Trevor?" Birkin mused aloud to himself.


	9. Novel Idea

_Novel Idea_

_January 5__th__, 1990_

It was a cold morning, almost too cold to be outside without a very heavy coat, but Wesker stood outside anyway in only his lab coat, and he quietly watched the scenery of the woods ahead of him from the balcony, ignoring the sleeping dobermans near by.

He'd never been a dog man, per say. He was more of a cat person. Less to take care of. Not that he owned any cats.

But his thoughts weren't on that subject at the moment. No, he had something bigger in mind. Within Lisa Trevor, after the injection of the nemesis parasite, Birkin had discovered a new virus, which he'd named Gene. This G Virus was interesting, yes, but was impractical as a use for a biological weapon. It was far too unpredictable, and by that means, uncontrollable, and when dealing with such issues, control was absolutely necessary in order to reap any of the benefits from a biological weapon.

But Spencer had approved the project. He'd once again allowed Birkin to look into something that Wesker knew would have little to no great benefits, at least, not any time soon. They were closer to perfecting the T Virus, yet somehow, now, Spencer wanted to allow research into this new one. Start over from scratch. Wesker once again could _not_ understand it.

So he'd left a memo for Birkin to start off. Now he was waiting on him.

And the doors finally opened. Birkin shivered as he walked out into the cold, and saw Wesker standing there. Making his way past the dogs, he asked, "Al? Why the hell are you out here? It's cold."

Wesker looked back at Birkin and got straight down to business. "You told me one night you decided as a side project to do a few experiments with your own genetics, correct?"

Birkin lifted a brow, "I did. Why?"

"You never told me the outcome of those projects. Were they promising?"

Birkin tilted his head a little thoughtfully and looked down, lifting his brows, "They showed promise. I could probably do more with it if I had the time to."

Wesker could see his way out here easily. He needed to know more on the G Virus anyway, so this would be the perfect opportunity for him. "I'd like you to pick up that project again. If I take over some of the G Virus research, will that free up enough time for you?"

Birkin couldn't help the smirk that formed on his lips. "What are you up to?" It wasn't often Wesker approached him like this, but whenever he did, he was always up to something, and Birkin was usually interested in whatever it was.

"I simply want you to look into it again. But using my own genetics this time, not yours."

"You want me to develop something for you."

"Yes," Wesker replied, "I do."

"Any particular reason?" Birkin lifted a brow in question over Wesker's motives.

Wesker had too many to name, and he also had too many he just _wouldn't_ name to anyone, let alone Birkin. But he didn't dwell too long on the question, otherwise Birkin might not believe his answer. "Perhaps your curiosities rubbed off on me, William. After all, I think it's a novel idea." Wesker hadn't even gotten to the 'kicker' part of it yet.

"Well, I do have my moments," Birkin replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders. Then he looked back at Wesker with a thought that had just popped into his head. "What do you intend to do with whatever I develop for you."

That was the kicker. Wesker told him, probably, the last thing he'd expected to hear. "Inject myself with it."

It suddenly became so clear to Birkin. He couldn't help but watch Wesker for a moment. The wheels in his head were turning non-stop now. Finally, he spoke, "Seems like you have your novel ideas too."

"It's possible," Wesker said plainly. Then he looked at Birkin, "What do you think you can do?"

Birkin lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his head, walking past Wesker for a moment and toward the edge of the balcony. Finally placing his hands down on it and breathing, steam lifting from his mouth and nose as he did so in the cold air, he tapped his fingers once or twice against the metal. Wesker watched him, let him think. He wouldn't rush it, not now.

And it took Birkin a short while. But finally he turned back to Wesker and nodded his head, "I think I could probably do quite a few things. Working with one person's DNA is simple, probably why my little side project showed so much promise. But when it's more than one person," he trailed off.

Wesker finished for him, "It becomes difficult to have the virus adapt to every DNA strand, limiting its infectiousness," he nodded, "I know."

"Exactly."

"Then," Wesker went on, turning to face him completely, "I need one more thing from you if we do this."

"What's that?"

Wesker shook his head, "Side project, Will. I don't want it in the spotlight. Someone may use it against the both of us."

"I agree," Birkin nodded his head. And Wesker knew he could trust him on that level. Like himself, Birkin didn't appreciate anyone interfering in his work. Not even his wife if it was important enough. "Don't worry, not even Spencer will know about it. I'll make sure of it."

"As will I," Wesker replied.

"Well, then," Birkin started, "in that case, I'm going inside. It's cold out here. Whenever you're ready, come down and give me a blood sample. It will probably be best to do it when everyone's at lunch."

"Good idea," Wesker replied, watching Birkin walking away and off of the balcony. Once the door opened and shut, Wesker sighed a steamy breath and turned his head again, looking back at the trees and the forests around them. He felt too many things against himself at that moment, and he knew he had to get out of there soon.

He hadn't done so yet, but he was planning on putting in a transfer. He'd been too curious now of Spencer's true motives for far too long, and he wanted to try and find out the truth. Not to mention the way he felt as a researcher, dried up. He'd gotten to the point where he felt he had nothing more he could offer, and now it was time for a change.

He'd more than likely be there in the research division for a little while longer, but soon now he'd have a good enough repertoire that he'd be able to transfer into security without a problem.

He'd been training without anyone elses knowledge, for quite a while now in fact. It was only a few days ago that Birkin had been the first person to comment on it, saying he somehow looked different. Wesker had noticed as well when he'd needed to get a bigger lab coat as well, his arms and chest had filled out a slight bit more from all the extra exercise.

Ever since Marcus's assassination, Wesker just had a feeling somewhere inside him that he'd needed to get away from things here. A transfer was a good start. At first he'd thought perhaps his own success as a researcher was the key, being that if he lost his usefulness, he'd be cut off as Marcus was. But as time had drawn out the knife, he'd realized that Marcus himself had been successful, and had still been cut off.

So it wasn't that Marcus was useless, though he had become so since the T Virus had been completed only a short while before. No, the biggest reason he was cut off was because he knew too much, and his opinion conflicted with Spencer's. Another question Wesker had toward Spencer's motivations lay right there.

It seemed to Wesker that from doing all of this, a virus that could wipe out an entire population, allowing Birkin so many freedoms when it had come to his erratic behavior, allowing him to continue testing on a new and unstable virus, assassinating those who knew too much even though they weren't useless, that Spencer had something of world domination in mind.

That had to have been it. It was the absolute and only logical conclusion he could come to. Wesker thought for a moment about how he'd demanded a nemesis parasite and how Spencer had gotten it for him, saying he'd agreed. Somehow, Wesker wasn't so sure.

Spencer probably knew for a fact that Wesker wanted the parasite to ensure his own success within in the company. Whether he knew Marcus's assassination had set it off or not however was an entirely different story.

So perhaps Spencer had seen an opportunity there within him, as he'd seen in Birkin when Alexia Ashford had driven him crazy. Now it had been Wesker's turn to try without pause to gain some kind of success, and so Spencer had allowed it.

Somehow that truth was all too clear.

So standing here now, on this balcony, in the freezing cold, Wesker had decided to put a request to William Birkin, knowing the man could do anything if he put his mind to it. And Wesker had a feeling he wouldn't disappoint. As for himself, Wesker felt somewhat completed as a researcher. They'd created a Tyrant, a perfect killing machine that wouldn't be easy at all to take down, and he felt that had been the pinnacle of his career as a researcher. Now it was time to move on to greener pastures.

Some of the branches swayed and scratched in the breeze, and Wesker noticed for a moment, drawing himself out of his previously deep thoughts. Trees, plants, animals, any and everything that could carry the T Virus, yet another tactic of Spencer's design, Wesker somehow knew. As if he wanted the virus to make an outbreak one day, and to start here.

If Raccoon City ever faced such a scenario, it would most certainly lead to Umbrella's death. So there was yet another question that Wesker couldn't understand toward Spencer's motives at all. There were just too many what if's involved. Why would the man want an outbreak to occur and ruin his own company?

Then again, he guessed it depended on the scenario. With that final thought in mind, Wesker turned away from the balcony and headed back inside. He had to be careful now. Extremely careful.


	10. Umbrella Brand

_Umbrella Brand_

_September 2__nd__, 1990_

There was a box of tissues resting on a table near his arm. Reaching over the needle sticking out of his arm, Wesker grabbed one of the tissues before he had the chance to sneeze all over Birkin.

Birkin knew it was paranoid, but he was wearing a face mask. He didn't want to take anything home to his wife and kid after all, and Wesker was pretty damned bad off. He'd been this way for a week now, and Birkin knew he was happy he'd gotten all that sick leave time. Otherwise he'd probably have been in trouble.

Wesker had a fever as well, but he'd managed to get himself to see Birkin while he was like this so that Birkin could take some more blood for the project he was working on.

"You know, I'm probably the only person to say this," Birkin commented, "but I'm actually glad you're sick."

Wesker eyed the face mask he was wearing and said, "You could have fooled me."

Birkin rolled his blue eyes up and then pulled the first vial off once it'd finished filling with blood. "Haven't you been taking any medications?"

"Yes," Wesker replied, "but it's persistent."

"Good," Birkin said, "not that you're suffering, but the stronger the disease, the better it is for the project."

It was Wesker's turn to roll his eyes. He felt like total hell, and no matter how much sense Birkin had just made with his statement, Wesker couldn't bring himself to agree with it. He turned his head and started coughing, immediately feeling dizzy afterwards and groaning.

But all of his sickness aside, Birkin could tell that Wesker looked a bit stronger now, physically that was. Wesker used to be about as skinny as he was, if not a bit more so because he was taller. But drawing blood from his arm, he knew for a fact the man had been working out. He wondered why.

Wesker watched once his dizzy spell had lifted, without problem, his blood shooting into the tube and filling it, followed by Birkin replacing the tube once it was full with a new one so he could get three vials of it. It was quiet, late at night, and neither one of them had said much.

Birkin had a thought suddenly however, and he said, "September second."

Wesker looked up, "Hmm?"

"Today is September second. It was," he trailed off thinking to himself for a moment, "thirteen years ago when we first started working here."

Wesker thought for a moment and then remembered, knew he was right. "Only thirteen?" He asked blandly.

Birkin snorted, knew what he meant. It seemed like a lot longer. Wesker was now 30, and Birkin was 28. They both felt as if they were a little older though at that point in time.

Pulling the tube out and then the needle from Wesker's arm, he turned to put everything up and Wesker untied the band from around his upper arm. Birkin looked at him for a moment and asked, "Can I ask you something?"

"What?" Wesker replied, folding his sleeve down of the casual button up shirt he'd been wearing since he'd been off work and ignoring him visibly for the moment as he did so.

"Why have you been working out?"

"I thought it'd make me even more irresistible to women," Wesker spoke sarcastically and stood up slowly.

"Speaking of which, I haven't seen you with a girl in a while now."

"I'm getting too old for flings," Wesker replied dryly, walking to the microscope where Birkin had his progress placed so far on the work he was doing on this project. While Wesker didn't care at the moment for such things, he still wanted to take a look for just a second, see what he could see.

Birkin guessed he wasn't going to tell the real reason he'd been working out, but who knew, maybe it wasn't important, he was just keeping in shape, mid life crisis or something like that. Birkin suddenly started laughing. Wesker having a mid life crisis. The thought amused him to no end.

Wondering what was so funny, Wesker turned his head and lifted a brow at Birkin. "Something amusing?"

"Just a joke Sherry told me earlier that popped into my head at random." Birkin lied, shook it off. Then he stood as well, gathering the vials, and he started placing them in the holders. "What about Jessica."

"Who's Jessica? And why are you finding it necessary to match me up with someone?"

Birkin snorted, opening the cabinet where he kept most of his personal things locked away, "Researcher here, she's 25, black hair, and she's got a crush on you, or so Annette says. And I don't find it necessary, I just thought that getting you laid might help your disposition a bit. I swear to god you get more and more inanimate with every day that goes by."

Wesker looked down when Birkin said that and his brow lowered a bit into a flat line. "Inanimate?"

"You act like you're ready to kill someone for looking at you wrong."

"I don't think inanimate is the proper word."

"I'm not a writer, Albert," Birkin called him now instead of 'Al' because the short name didn't really seem to suit him anymore and hadn't in a long time now. "But it does suit. If you need something better, then try sour."

"Sour, hmm?" Wesker asked standing back from the microscope. "And why is it that a sour disposition is always related to a lack of sex?"

Birkin had closed and locked the cabinet by the time Wesker had asked that, and then he grabbed the tray containing the vials of blood and moved them over to the freezer to keep them fresh. Shaking his head, he said, "Because that's usually what causes it."

"I'll remember that," Wesker replied sarcastically and then glanced at the time. Almost midnight. Without a second thought, he turned to the door, but stopped because of a violent coughing fit that made him lean on the side of the table weakly. Birkin shook his head over it.

"Yeah, you need to get some rest," he told Wesker.

Recovering from the coughing fit by clearing his throat, Wesker only nodded, not wanting to say or do anything else but such as what Birkin had suggested. So he left without a word. Birkin just let the sick man go home to rest.

Wesker moved down the hallway. Turning to move toward the door and when he pushed it open, he heard a gasp and a thud on the other side of it. He lifted a brow as he looked around to the other side of the door and saw a woman laying on the floor and a few papers strewn about everywhere.

Wesker looked the woman over for a moment, but mostly because her black skirt had risen up a bit, showing off her garter belt slightly.

When he realized where he was looking, he rolled his eyes at himself and wondered if maybe Birkin was right. When was the last time he'd been laid anyway? He drew a blank when he thought about it.

The woman was cussing and gathering the files together that she'd dropped, and it didn't take her long either, not long enough for Wesker to even consider attempting to help her. She stood back up and looked at the door, somewhat angry until she saw who it was, then her face went a little blank. But she didn't say anything. Not at first.

Wesker noticed the name tag. Jessica. And she was a pretty thing too. He wondered why he hadn't paid much attention before. Had he been that busy most of the time? He guessed his mind had just been on far more important things. And it was far from things such as that now because of his current state of health and being.

Jessica stayed quiet for a moment as he just stood there and thought this over. Then she said, "You really do look terrible."

The comment made Wesker grumble. He just turned and walked past her, and she added, "Hope you get better soon."

"At least someone does," was his only response. Jessica couldn't help the smile. She knew why he'd say that, as it seemed to be the case that he was a stern boss man and not everyone liked him completely.

Leaving the place altogether, Wesker found himself in a pharmacy about three blocks away from his house. His eyes were a bit red from lack of sleep and the illness he had, and he reached up to rub them before he put his shades back on, sniffling afterwards. There was a line of medications on the counter, several of them marked with the Umbrella logo.

Wesker reached up to them and stopped. Then he put his hand on a competitors box and pulled it off of the shelf.

Checking out with the cashier, he started another coughing fit, covering his mouth with his hand and another tissue. The man behind the counter said, "You should try the Umbrella brand, it works really well."

Wesker took a deep breath, winded from coughing, and as the man placed the items he'd just purchased into a plastic bag, and they exchanged their money, Wesker replied, "No thank you, I'll stick with this."

"Have a good night and get better," the worker replied as Wesker walked out of the store. Ignoring his words just because he didn't feel good at all, he got into his car and started it up. He felt dead on his feet, and almost fell somewhat into the seat when he'd sat down. Then he grabbed the thermal mug he'd been carrying around and without even taking the time to measure the amount, he opened the bottle of medicine he'd bought and drank a good amount, chasing it with his soda a moment later.

Umbrella brand, he thought, scoffing slightly as he took the break off and then started to drive out of the parking lot. Essentially he _was_ an Umbrella brand.


	11. All's Well That Ends Well

_All's Well That Ends Well_

_February 23__rd__, 1991_

"And when was _I_ going to hear about this, in a yearly news letter? You sent in that transfer months ago and never said anything about it!"

Birkin had just found out about Wesker's transfer to the Umbrella Security Department in Raccoon City, and he wasn't pleased about it. Not that he entirely minded, just that he would have liked to have known beforehand and Wesker had never said a word.

"I didn't know all of my affairs concerned you, Will. You don't need to be so dramatic."

Birkin threw his hands up groaned loudly for patience. "It _does_ concern me, Wesker, it concerns my work! _Our_ work. And now you're leaving it all behind."

Wesker sighed, he was currently packing the things up in his office there, and he told William, "Be reasonable. We both know it's now _your_ work. I've done all I can do, and now it's time for a change for me."

Birkin sighed through his nose. Then he folded his arms over his chest and looked down, "I just wish I'd had some advanced notice."

Wesker didn't reply aloud or very visibly except to slightly raise a brow. Birkin shook his head and turned away. Stopping once he'd reached the door, he asked, "Why security?" He turned back around. "Are you trying to find out more about something?"

Once again, Wesker remained quiet. Birkin somehow knew that was it. Then he smiled a bit, "I see."

Birkin walked through the door completely and down the hallway. Somehow, he was starting to like this idea of Wesker being in on security. It made a lot of sense, or seemed to at that point anyway. Somehow it just fit. Not that Wesker didn't make a good researcher, he did, but somehow, some of his skills seemed to be wasted on it.

Birkin let it all go quickly.

Wesker found himself on the lift that led out of the training facility not too much longer later. He stood with the few other employees of Umbrella around that were heading into town quietly, and he thought to himself for several moments alone. That's when someone caught his eye. Jessica. The young woman he'd knocked over all that time ago when he'd been sick. She was on the lift heading into town as well.

She'd been facing the front of the tram ever since they'd gotten onto it, and hadn't noticed Wesker there. He wondered if now would be a good time to let his presence be known or not. Then again, he thought, perhaps he could use her for his own purposes when it came to the art of stealth.

Then again, it wasn't as if he had to. In fact, he decided strongly against it when he remembered one thing, being that he wasn't going to be a researcher anymore so he probably wouldn't ever see her again face to face or often anyway.

And he was going to be bored for the rest of the day anyway, as his security job didn't start until tomorrow. So he found himself getting onto the Ecliptic Express just a short while later, and had himself a pretty brunette for company.

Sitting down with her across from him in a seat facing him, she said, "You know, some of the researchers might be happy."

Wesker lifted a brow, "Why is that?"

"Because both you and Birkin were fairly stern. It might loosen their load."

"It's possible," Wesker commented, and didn't feel offended at all. He knew she was right. "And what about you?"

"Oh, I'm indifferent. It's the same either way it goes."

Jessica had a little smirk on her face as she was looking out of the window with the comment she'd given. Wesker watched her for just a moment before he asked, "Won't miss me any?"

She looked over at him and raised a brow. "Why would I miss you? It's not like we knew each other very well."

"True, but I was seeking a stroke to my ego."

Jessica grinned at him, she couldn't help it. "Well, at least you're honest about it. Fine, if you'd like, I'll get down on my knees and beg you to stay."

_You could do something else while you were down there._ Wesker immediately pushed the thought from his head. "If you think it'll make me feel better."

Jessica snickered and crossed her legs. "I only wonder who Birkin will have to compete with now."

"No one, just the way he likes it, and myself as well."

"You know, I have a twin brother in security."

"Oh? Would his name happen to start with a J?"

Jessica smiled at Wesker's question. It was odd how several times twins were named something similar. She wondered if he'd guess it, so she let him try. Wesker threw out a random name, "Jessie, perhaps."

Jessica started snickering. "No, actually it's Jeremy."

"How fitting."

Jessica just looked down, smiling. Wesker watched her. Finally, he asked, "Where are you heading?"

"Home," she said, looking back up, "you? Starting your new work today?"

Wesker shook his head at her, "Tomorrow."

"Guess you're going to enjoy the rest of your day off then, hmm?"

"I'd planned on it," he replied, putting on of his ankles up on the opposite knee and then looking out of the window himself.

"Anything specific planned?"

"No, just some relaxing." He got quiet for a moment and then asked, "This brother of yours, he wouldn't happen to be one of the captains, would he?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "have you met him?"

"I'm not sure. If I see him again, however, I'll remember."

That's when Wesker noticed a smirk on her face. He lifted a brow as he turned his head back to her, "What?"

"Just that I know you don't seem to remember a lot of people names unless they're a little more important to you than most. You never actually called me by name until the night you knocked me over with the door when you were sick."

Wesker hadn't realized it. He shrugged slightly. It wasn't that he was absent minded, no, far from it, just that when it came to recognition of people, they needed to do something specifically more notable than other people before they caught his attention. Knocking them over with a door by accident was just as good as anything.

And Wesker had no qualms in hiding it. "I only remember the important faces."

Jessica didn't seem to be offended. Just another assistant researcher or not, she'd still gotten his attention, even if it did mean falling on her ass. "I wonder what it would take to make you remember it even better."

She had that quality to her voice that most women got when they meant something in particular. "Suggesting something, my dear?" He asked in turn.

Jessica shrugged, "Only if you want to take it that way. But you _are_ off today with nothing planned, aren't you?"

Wesker looked back out of the window. On his lips formed a small smirk.

The bang against the wall wasn't loud, but it did cause some shaking slightly. The headboard hit it again and her cries and words of enjoyment sounded. It was an hour later after the train ride, and they'd been at it for a while. Finally the bed had stopped moving however, and they both collapsed onto it, breathing heavily.

Three times. Wesker thought it was safe to say that he was right and he _had_ been overdue. But the lady seemed to enjoy it, so all was well that ended well.

Jessica's body was still rubbing against his in her own aftermath, and he decided to pull her over on top of him. From there, he just let her do what she wanted to. And now that the blood was returning to other areas of his body that were a bit smarter, he had a thought, and started off, "Aren't you affectionate."

Jessica looked back up, her brown eyes meeting his blue eyes, and she pushed her hair over her shoulder, "Only when I'm happy with the performance."

The sound of his chuckle reverberating through his chest slightly made her smirk. Then he went on to his initial thought, "I wonder if your brother would become angry with me if he knew."

Jessica shrugged, "Not my problem, it's not like this is serious."

"I see," Wesker replied casually as if he'd not just fucked the woman three times in a row, "just give and take, is it?"

"Why not?"

"My sentiments exactly."

They both got a bit quiet after that, feeling the wear of their extraneous activities taking its toll on them and becoming groggy. But before either of them could fall asleep, Wesker heard her voice, "Are you going to miss it any?"

"Miss what?"

"The labs."

"Probably not."

"Hmm," she smirked even though he couldn't see it. "I can see why. It gets stressful there."

She'd started rubbing his shoulders, still laying against his chest.

"Trying to entice me again?"

"Sorry, just taking advantage of the situation."

He was rubbing her back now.

"Besides, I think we'll pass out before we can do anything else."

"Mmm hmm," Wesker drew out groggily, already half asleep.

"But if you could, how would you sum it all up?"

"Sum what up?"

"Your job as a researcher."

With what little thought he had left in his brain, Wesker trudged through it for a few minutes, and wondered just _how_ he'd sum up a career like that. It was an interesting enigma indeed, one that his half asleep brain couldn't muster the strength to go through at the moment. But he managed to get out just before he dozed off to sleep, "All's well that ends well."

Jessica smiled, drifting off to sleep herself. She guessed that meant he was just ready to get on with his life.


	12. Fatherly Reward

_Fatherly Reward_

_August 1__st__, 1993_

The seven year old little girl stood in the doorway, watching her father argue on the phone. He was using big words she could only vaguely understand, and he finally slammed the device down and sat in a chair with a groaned sigh.

Even when he was home lately, he'd been working, and so had her mother. Sherry stayed quiet in the doorway there, afraid he was still working and that he'd tell her something like he did a lot of times like 'later' or 'daddy's busy' or some other such thing.

But then he surprised her and spoke, "Come'ere, Sherry."

She guessed he knew she was there after all. Sherry was so happy he'd told her to come over there to him that she ran over and jumped into his lap. Birkin smiled and groaned, "Whoa now, you're getting heavy, be careful." He smirked as she sat on his lap and asked, "How are you doing, pumpkin?"

"I got a hundred on my test in math yesterday."

"A hundred?" Birkin asked, "Really? Did the teacher commend you?"

Sherry narrowed his brows, "Huh?"

"Did she say good job," Birkin explained.

"Oh, yes," Sherry bit her finger as if she were shy, "she comendered me."

Birkin started chuckling softly. He pushed his fingers through her hair and told her, "That's good, what else have you done?"

"A ninety in social studies."

"Oh, anything else?" Birkin knew he had to ask otherwise his somewhat shy daughter would never tell him.

"Yes," Sherry nodded.

"Like what?"

"A hundred and five in science."

That _did_ impress Birkin. He felt a hint of fatherly pride rush through him. "Hundred and five? How'd you do that?"

"The teacher said if we answered the extra question, we'd get extra points, but we didn't have to, and if we got it wrong, it wouldn't count bad to us."

"And did anyone else get it right?"

Sherry shook her head, still chewing on her thumb, "No."

Birkin was glad he'd asked her to come in there now. With all of the new recruits and idiots at work lately, he needed something to make his day better and cheer him up. And this was the best thing for him. His daughter doing so well in school. "Well you know what?"

"What?"

"I think you deserve an icecream."

"Really!?" She sounded excited.

Smiling, Birkin lifted her up and stood her on the floor as he stood himself, "Yes, really. Go get your shoes on."

"Okay!" Sherry said enthusiastically and ran off and out of the room to do so. Birkin was grabbing his own things from the desk, such as his keys and his wallet, and he reached out and turned the computer off.

Sherry was tying her shoes quickly and she stood up to go back to the study when he heard the phone ringing. She gasped. That's when she took off in a sprint.

But Birkin had already answered it. Sherry slid to a stop at the door and watched her father talking on the phone with someone and she slowly began to frown. Then she sighed and turned away from the door, wishing her Daddy didn't have such a demanding job.

The phone call lasted an hour. Birkin left the room and called out, "Sherry?"

She didn't answer. So he walked down the hallway and to the back of the house. Opening the door, he saw her sitting on the back steps, reading a book.

He stepped out and sat down beside her. "What's that?"

"Where the red fern grows," she replied.

"For school? Isn't it a little hard?"

"Kind of."

Birkin sighed. He didn't want to have to tell her he needed to go back to work for a while, but he had to. "Sherry, I–"

"I know," Sherry told him, interrupting him. She looked up at him, "You have to go to work. It's okay."

Birkin watched her, and then he leaned down and kissed her cheek, "I love you, Sherry. I'll take you myself soon, I promise, and you know I never break those. For now, your Mother can take you."

"Okay," Sherry nodded, then finally smiled at him and leaned up, planting a big, wet kiss on his cheek. "I love you too, Daddy."

Birkin patted her head, smirking. Then he reached out suddenly and started tickling her for a moment, causing her to squeal and grin widely and yell, "Mommy!"

Chuckling as well, Birkin stopped and he stood up. Seeing Annette now, standing at the back door to the house, he smirked as he walked inside. Annette waited for the screen door to shut, and then she asked him, "What's wrong?"

"Just those new recruits at work. They're driving me up a wall. I've got to go for a little bit. Could you take Sherry to get some icecream for me?"

"Sure," Annette replied, knowing how this happened sometimes, to bother herself and to Birkin. "Be back soon though, okay? Sherry was really looking forward to both of us being here, especially since she's doing so well in school."

"I know," Birkin nodded, but he grumbled slightly, "I know, I'm trying my best."

He'd started walking off. "Hey," Annette grabbed his arm to stop him. "Wait, listen, you're doing perfectly fine. Don't worry about it."

Birkin looked back at her. Appreciative of the thought, he leaned in and kissed her gently, a kiss she returned before allowing it to break off. "I'll be back shortly."

"Okay," Annette nodded, watching him go. Shaking her head, she turned back to the door and opened it up, "Hey squirt, who's ready for icecream?"

Hearing this as he walked out, Birkin left the house in a bitter mood. Those guys at work were going to hear it from him severally. He was _not_ going to be made to compromise for them, for his own work, yes, but for theirs, no.

Sometimes he envied Wesker in being able to part himself from his research like he'd done a few years ago. Not that he wanted to part himself from his own research, just that he wanted to part himself from the idiots working up there. Pushing the thought out of his head however, he went on to work so that he could get this over with. He _had_ wanted to get some icecream after all. It was August, icecream was good in August.

He also briefly thought about Annette's words to him, he'd been doing perfectly fine. He wished he had been, but he knew she was trying to make him feel better, and that was one of the reasons he loved her.

He'd definitely make it up to Sherry. It'd be something worthwhile and meaningful. A gift perhaps. Though he knew no gift could replace himself and his time spent with her, not in her eyes anyway it seemed, he could still find _something_ she'd like.

Everything would be fine.


	13. The Perfect Gift

_The Perfect Gift_

_November 15__th__, 1993_

Wesker looked around the halls of the new facility beneath Raccoon City, well, not specifically new, but it'd gotten several renovations in the past several months since he'd become the security officer he was.

Wearing his uniform which consisted of a very dark grey vest over a black button up shirt and a pair of black cargo pants, complete with a pair of leather boots, and gun harnesses around his shoulders, he walked down the hallway quietly. He wasn't there for security alone that day, in fact, he wasn't even on duty. He was, instead, going to see an old friend.

Birkin was trying to clean his office up. He'd gotten a bit slack lately and had too many papers laying out, so now he was organizing them in his file cabinet, and he turned and reached for the mouse of his computer, clicking a few options so that he could get onto the next set of files on the agenda.

That's when a knock came to the door and Birkin rolled his eyes, "Edward, I swear to God, if you're back to ask me another _useless_ question about your work, I'm going to fire you."

No answer. Birkin guessed he'd scared the guy off, and he smirked over it, "That's what I thought," he muttered to himself, but then the knock sounded again.

This time, Birkin's brows raised. He knew Edward wouldn't be such a smartass as to make him think he'd left and then knock again, so he went to the door and answered it.

Revealing Wesker standing there, he lifted a brow and simply said, "You're not Edward."

"I'd gathered as much. You're apparently being bothered a lot lately, hmm?"

Birkin scoffed, then turned back to his desk, and Wesker walked inside, shutting the door behind him. "Something like that," Birkin replied. This was the first time he'd seen Wesker in his security uniform, as he'd seen him only a few times over the past few years, and he was a little unused to the guns. But somehow it seemed to fit him.

"So," Birkin started once he'd put some more files up, looking back at Wesker, "what can I do for you?"

Wesker knew the man had been busy now. He just stared at him quietly for a moment. "You called me down here?" Wesker reminded.

"Shit," Birkin rolled his eyes at himself, "I completely forgot." Reaching up, he scratched his head, "Are you on duty?"

Wesker snorted and told him, "As fate would have it, at the moment, no."

"Good, then you can come down to the lab with me. I didn't bring it up here."

Wesker, while Birkin had said this, had noticed a pendant laying on his desk, made of gold. Wesker reached out for it and looked it over, "What's this?"

"A gift for Sherry. I wanted to make up for not being able to take her to get some icecream for making good grades."

"I see, she's doing well then?"

"Of course," Birkin replied as if she wouldn't ever be doing any other. "It was a few months ago, but I wanted the gift to be perfect, so it took me a while to find it."

"I see," Wesker replied and then set the pendant necklace back down, turning to face Birkin again. When he did, Birkin began moving toward the door and Wesker just followed in behind him, heading down to the labs with him.

Once on the elevator, Wesker asked, "I've read that the work on your virus has come along smoothly."

Birkin nodded, "It's a devastating weapon to be sure. Just as infectious as Umbrella likes, and so far, just as deadly as the T Virus." Birkin looked at him, "Does security know _everything_ that goes on down here?"

"I've become somewhat of a filter," Wesker explained, "most of what they know comes through myself. You have Jessica Withers to thank for that."

Birkin only vaguely remembered the name as Jessica had transferred to Chicago a long time ago now. "What did she have to do with it?"

"Her twin brother worked in security. I got onto his good side by pretending to be a bit more interested in his sister than she thought, and I found out that her twin sister, Julie, works in Chicago, so I used their family ties to gather a lot of data. I'm glad you pointed Jessica out to me, she came in quite handy, and didn't seem offended to help."

Birkin lifted a brow, "Twin brother and _sister_?"

"Yes, identical sister. I never met her however. But needless to say I got what I needed to out of them. Jeremy had been working for security for a long while."

Wesker thought about it for the moment. Julie, Jessica's identical twin, had been in security in Chicago. Jessica had explained that her siblings didn't care for science much, but she had, especially when she'd learned how she and her brother and sister had been conceived, two eggs that had been fertilized, and one split into two itself. So she'd gone into science.

And all three of them seemed to be somewhat shady and underhanded. They'd been fairly useful to Wesker, and he'd gained a lot of information since then that he constantly used to keep himself on top of the game in the security department.

The elevator doors had since opened, and Birkin led Wesker into the lab and into his own private work space. There were several things about typical of such a room, including freezers, cabinets, and other devices, some locked, some not.

Wesker watched him opening a storage space that was locked, and he turned around after shutting it, holding a virus vial in his hand. Wesker lifted a brow. "Is _that_ what you wanted me down here for."

Birkin nodded, walking toward Wesker and holding it out. He had some documents in his hand as well and he said, "That's what you asked me to make. It doesn't have a name really, perhaps I'll just call it the W Virus after you," he said unseriously. "But it will have profound effects on your body if you ever inject yourself with it as you'd suggested."

Wesker looked over the contents for just a moment, and then at the documents he'd been handed. There was one paper with the readings on it that Birkin knew Wesker would want to see right away, and there was a disc as well. "I take it," Wesker started as he eyed the readings, "that this disc encompasses everything on the virus that I need to know."

Birkin nodded, "Yes, it does. You need to watch it carefully, but I'm sure you know that. Everything else aside, I think you know what to do with it."

"Yes, of course," Wesker replied, finally looking up from the paper after he'd said that and nodding. Then he folded the paper up and put it in his vest pocket along with the disc, and put the virus vial in a separate pocket. His mind went back to their earlier conversation in the office upstairs and he asked, "The perfect gift?"

Birkin smirked slightly and replied, "Why not."

They got quiet for only a moment as Wesker had closed his pockets up. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?" Wesker asked him then.

"No, not specifically. But I wanted to know if security was planning anything special that might be good to know about."

Wesker narrowed a brow in thought over the question. Then he shook his head, "Not specifically. Well, except that the cities police have been getting to be annoyances lately apparently. They're considering sending another agent in to quiet them down a bit and keep them under control."

"Don't they already have one?"

"They're bribing Brian Irons," Wesker replied, "that's about it. But the man obviously can't handle what he'd being paid for if we're still having problems down here."

"Obviously," Birkin replied, shaking his head. "But you're apparently happy in your new line of work."

"Ecstatic," Wesker said, his tone sounding as if he were the farthest thing from it, causing Birkin to chuckle softly. "I'll be around if I have anymore questions to put to you," he added, and Birkin just nodded in his agreement.

Wesker turned to leave and go home for the night. As he walked out of the laboratory, he thought about the item he was carrying in his pocket now. The perfect gift, he mused.

A smirk traced his lips. Perfect indeed.


	14. We'll Be Home Soon

_**Author's Note:**__ I just wanted to apologize for the long delay in this story. Life comes at you fast after all apparently, and yeah, I haven't had much of a chance to update things, but I'm going to be definitely trying to get this story finished and wrapped up before much too longer. After all, there's really only a few more chapters left, and yeah, I'd like to have it completed!! !!_

_Thanks to everyone who's been reading this fic and I hope you enjoy this new chapter I'm posting up now! Thanks again!_

_GieGie_

_We'll Be Home Soon_

_April 5th, 1993_

Little miss smarty pants. Teacher's pet. Geek. Nerd. Little rich girl. Snob. Brat.

All of them names thrown at Sherry Birkin nearly everyday of the week. Her father, the renowned scientist William Birkin, and her mother, his assistant, Anette, we're both known for their endeavors in science. But their success in their field was hindering their daughter in hers; the field of growing up.

But that didn't make them bad parents. They loved her, cared about her. She was the apple of their eyes. One of the apples. Perhaps she shared a place, then again, she couldn't be exactly sure. Her father always called her pumpkin and told her she was beautiful and her mother liked to buy her new outfits from time to time, take her out shopping. On top of it, her father had given her a beautiful pendant, told her he loved her. So they weren't bad parents at all. Just because they were successful and didn't know how much she was being picked on didn't mean they were bad parents.

They were just...oblivious.

"Daddy, how long are you going to be at work tonight?"

"I don't know, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just," Sherry took a deep breath, "I just need to talk to you about something."

Birkin furrowed his brows, gathering together his papers on his desk, having not spared her a glance for the moment, but he gave one to his watch. "Damn, it's already five after," he grabbed his lab coat from the back of his chair and finally looked at his daughter, "I'll talk to you when I get home, alright?" Grabbing the papers, he went over to her and leaned down to kiss her cheek, leaving with the words, "I'm running late, I'll see you tonight!"

But he never did. He'd come home after she was already in bed and watch her sleeping there quietly, wondering what she might've been dreaming about whenever she twitched slightly. Turning in himself a few hours later, he woke up after she'd gone to school already, and sometimes the cycle continued on for weeks at a time.

Sometimes the cycle would break, and if Sherry got time with her parents, she knew it wouldn't come again often, and she didn't want to spoil it with talk of the mean kids at school treating her badly. She wanted her time with them to be special, to be worth something, and when the next day came, she was back to hiding again, back to being ignored again. She'd just palm the locket her daddy had given her and remember that he'd given it to _her_, no one else.

Papers fell off of the table. The workload was a heavy one. It was getting late, nearly eleven o'clock, but he'd push himself through the night, catch a few naps at his desk here and there, he had so many things he had to perfect, so many things he had to make ready, deals he had to oversee, bargains he was working on.

The phone rang, interrupting his line of thought, putting a peaceful end to the chaos surrounding him. He reached out from the phone and lightly lifted it from its hanger. "Yes?" His expression had been stern, but immediately softened. "Sherry, what are you doing up?" He tilted his head forward a bit, stopped marking his pen on the paper, and let it fall to the side casually.

"Couldn't sleep, huh? Where's Janice?" He listened to his daughters soft voice, looked at the picture of him, his wife, her, on the desk, imagined her face while he spoke to her on the phone. "No, I'm not mad at you for being up late, pumpkin. We'll be home soon."

Anette stood in the doorway behind him, listening. Birkin went on, "She did? I'm glad. I miss you too." As he spoke, Anette tilted her head to the side against the door frame and took a deep breath. Just watching him sitting there, lab coat on, phone against his ear, back hunched forward in his chair and he leaned close to the desk. She knew why things were the way they were, and knew Sherry would understand when she was older as well. It just wasn't something that could be helped.

He talked to his daughter for a good half an hour, then finally hung up the phone. Anette walked in quietly and she put her hands on his back, not startling him in the least, rubbing his shoulders. "Hey, you need some coffee?"

She heard his lowly made sigh, wondered what his response would be, and then just a moment later, he stood up and knocked several of his papers off of his desk, walking to the door.

"Will?" Anette asked, moving in behind him, concerned, "Wait."

"I told you, Anette," he said, spinning aruond to face her, anger evident in his eyes, "I told you, they put them everywhere."

"Who? What?" Anette tried to make sense of his words but she just couldn't for the life of her.

"That woman," he pointed at the phone, "Janice, I want her _out_ of our home. She used to be a nurse, and I don't trust her."

Anette couldn't believe she was hearing this. "You don't seriously think Janice is spying, do you? Why would Umbrella do that? You work for _them_!"

His wife's words made sense, but something else, something else playing in the back of Birkin's mind made even more sense. _Time to die, doctor_, _I will continue your research_. His blue eyes shifted back to Anette's face with the memory of Marcus's assassination, and he shook his head slowly, "It doesn't matter, Anette, they have their reasons, and I have mine. That babysitter goes, and no one short of a clear history of entanglements with Umbrella comes near our daughter, no one. She deserves to start out with a clean slate, not one filled with lies and deceit."

Anette glanced down, thinking his words over, knowing how much sense they made, then slowly nodded, "Alright, but are you absolutely certain she's a spy?"

"She had Sherry call me here, she had to get the direct number somehow, probably wanting to make sure I was at work. This work I'm doing is too important, they're watching me, and I have to be careful. Anything I do can and will get back to them somehow, unless I know the right people."

"As much as I hate to say it," Anette looked back up at her husband, "Wesker's in security. Doesn't he count for anything?"

"He's got his own strings, he's been a good filter, yes, but if I'd known then what I know now, I never would have handed it over so soon."

"Handed what over?"

The virus, Birkin thought to himself. He could have made another demand with it. Asked Wesker for a few favors before he'd placed the vial into the security officers hand, but it was too late for that. Somehow it didn't matter anymore though. Finally, Birkin smiled, shaking his head at Anette slowly, stepping toward her and putting his hands on her arms. "Nothing, it's all in the past now. We don't need him, we don't need this company. We'll be out of here soon enough, out of here with Sherry and our work, that's all we need. Just each other."

Anette nodded up at him as soon as he'd spoken, looking back and forth between his blue eyes and putting her hands on his cheeks before she leaned up and pressed a simple kiss against his lips. Pulling her face back slowly, she told him, "You're right, we don't. If they _are_ spying on you, we'll figure something out."

Birkin just smiled at her, Turning, he put his arm around her shoulders and led her out of the office, shutting and locking the door behind himself, telling her on the way out, "Come on, let's just go home. After all, Sherry misses us, and she's important too."


	15. Promising

_Promising_

_July 25__th__, 1996_

"Why the hell are you messing with that thing? It's a broken down piece of shit!"

A loud sigh was made from beneath a radio station sitting in the middle of the room on the floor. Janitors were cleaning up what appeared to be an office in the middle of a renovation, and one of the men pulled off a strip of sticky plastic from the doors window that read "S.T.A.R.S. Office," along with smaller text beneath it reading, "Special Tactics and Rescue Squad".

People were coming and going, and the man still on the floor beneath the old, apparently busted down radio, looked up at his comrade standing there, leaning against the wall, his hair pulled back, a tattoo on his arm, unlit cigarette clutched between his lips. "Forest, would you shut up if all you're going to do is nag me? Go bother Jill for a while, it's been too long since she's put you in a headlock."

The man named Forest snorted in amusement, watching his friend with the red bandana tied around his hair laying back once again, shaking his own head slowly, "See, that's where you're wrong Joseph, I bother her so she does it on purpose. If I do it too much, she'll know my game and my number will be up."

Joseph snorted, lifting a wrench to a bit of wiring beneath the radio station, saying, "You're sick, Forest," with a soft chuckle, that quickly turned into a loud gasp and yell as sparks started flying everywhere. Joseph came scrambling out from under the radio station, and Forest, who apparently thought it was one of the funniest things he'd ever seen, just started laughing his ass off.

"You two quit playing around," came another mans voice from across the room, a bigger, Spanish man, who went on, "Forest, go unload the rest of the supplies from the truck."

With a sigh, Forest shook his head, turning to the door, "Yes sir, boss man," then he stopped when someone else started heading into the room before he could get out, nodding his head, "Captain," in greeting, and then leaving the room.

Hearing the word Captain, followed by the Captain saying as he entered the room, "Apparently they have yet to fix the radio," the Spanish man turned to face him and just nodded as he watched Joseph on the floor.

"The new one hasn't come in yet, Captain Wesker, with this office being in service in the next two days, I wanted him to try and fix that one incase we needed it."

Wesker lifted a brow over his shades, watching Joseph nearly get electrocuted again, never once looking at the man he was speaking to as he replied, "I think we would be better off with the radio broken and the officer intact." With a sigh if indignation, Wesker looked back at the man he'd been speaking to who was still watching Joseph, "Enrico, just have him disassemble the radio and salvage whatever parts of it still work. Also, you have something for me?"

Enrico looked at Wesker, and then seemed to remember what he'd spoken of, turning to a desk and shuffling through a few papers, pulling them out. "Barry's on his way with the new recruit now. You've got two of them coming in today, I don't know when the other one will be here, but Barry called me ten minutes ago and said he was leaving."

Wesker took the paper he was holding and looked the information over from behind his shades, Enrico reminding him, "Chris Redfield, former Air Force pilot. Barry gave you the man's resume last week."

"Yes," Wesker said, finishing his once over on the paper, and then lowering his hand, looking over at Joseph once again. "I'll have it taken care of. Just get Joseph out from under that thing."

"Yes, sir," Enrico replied and went over to tell Joseph what Wesker had said. Wesker decided he'd spent a bit too much time in the office that day and would be glad to distract himself with something as simple as an orientation of sorts. That was, if the man whom was joining the team was worth his salts.

It was in that moment that he heard Barry's voice from the hallway, "Where the hell did you go? Oh," then it got quiet. Just a moment following that, he went on, "You act like you're dehydrated."

The bearded man who was surprisingly the same age as Wesker named Barry Burton walked into the room in a set of casual clothing, admiring the new sign on the door for a moment with a nod of his head, right behind him a much taller, brown haired man whom wore a green button down shirt and a pair of casual jeans. They both looked over the work on the door for a moment, and Barry turned and walked into the room completely, allowing his friend to follow in behind him.

Giving a few greetings before he headed toward Wesker, Barry finally looked at the man and nodded his head, saying, "Right on time like you'd asked."

"That must mean you didn't drive, Barry," Wesker replied, looking over at the man he'd just been introduced to whom held out a hand for his. Wesker reached up his own hand and they shook, both grips firm, and Wesker went on, "Chris Redfield?"

"Yes, sir. Captain Albert Wesker?"

"Indeed."

Their hands drew away, and Chris nodded, then looked around, saying, "Barry tells me you're looking for a pointman."

"We are. He also told me you're a professional marksman, formerly flew for the Air Force to boot."

"Yes, sir."

"Good, then I don't think we will have too much to cover. Welcome to S.T.A.R.S.."

Wesker led the man to what was currently his desk, had him fill out the paperwork while he did other tasks, then took the paperwork for himself and filled in the blanks with his own signature, ran them through the necessary processes, followed by giving Chris the dime tour. That tour wound up in the armory, where Wesker introduced Chris to his new best friend; the Samurai Edge.

Chris inspected the weapon, not necessarily showing off his skill and knowledge with weapons, but simply getting a feel for the gun, checking the loading, gripping the handle to see where his thumb and index finger ended up, testing the weight of it in general. They took it down to the shooting range, and Chris fired several shoots off of the gun at the paper silhouette to really get a good feel for her. Both men wore their goggles and earphones, and Chris turned to slide the paper along the conveyer back toward himself. He nodded his head at the weapon as well finally and said to Wesker, "She's lightweight, will make her easy to adjust to."

"Accustomed to lighter weapons?"

Chris thought about it for a moment, then shook his head, "No, I just seem to adjust easier if it is." He unloaded the gun and turned it in his hand, holding the weapon out to the Captain, letting him take it and then set it back on the shelf with the rest of them. "I've handled several different guns, so I don't really have much of a preference for anything in particular."

"I see, in that case, you should make a rather useful pointman." Once Wesker had set the weapon back onto the shelf, he looked over at Chris and added, "I normally start the new recruits off on Bravo team, Alpha team is set up to handle more of the intense situations, and Bravo is somewhat entry level. However, it seems to be a waste on your extensive record to do so with you. But the workload will be larger, the hours longer. Will you accept?"

Chris lifted his brows slightly in thought. Barry hadn't lied. He'd said the Captain was fairly straightlaced, but a cool, calm man, able to work easily under pressure. He would often be easy going on transgressions and offer shortcuts around regulations to make things easier and go more smoothly in the long run for everyone, sometimes even if the regulation wasn't supposed to be ignored, such as starting Chris off on Alpha team, though Chris didn't think this was such a big rule for him to be breaking. They were both his teams ultimately after all.

Chris liked the man so far, having a slight issue with authority himself, that was, narrowminded authority who couldn't see the greater good in an alternate course of action, he appreciated what he'd heard and seen of his new Captain so far. Straightlaced and proper as the man seemed to be, Chris had a definite appreciation for his relaxed methods of dealing with things. Especially when it'd come to the assessment test he'd had to take in the office with the rest of the paperwork. Chris hated those things, had grumbled slightly over it, and when he'd realized Wesker had heard him, he'd thought the man might become a bit peeved.

But instead, Wesker had simply chuckled, moving in behind his desk to sit down with his papers in his hand, going over them, casually commenting that he also thought them to be a waste of time. So Chris felt pretty damned good that his new Captain would offer him a job on the main team instead of making him have to work his way up to it.

"Of course," he replied not a moment after Wesker had asked him, "I wouldn't turn it down. Besides, I think we can both agree that Barry will need all the help he can get," Chris joked, smirking over it. The silhouette came back, and Chris had hit all of the vital organs, not one missed shot.

Wesker's reply to his words was a slight smile, a nod of his head, telling him, "Good, then I will have the proper arrangements made, and you can start work Monday morning. I believe you already know the dress code."

Chris nodded, then he held out his hand. "Yes, sir. I'll look forward to it."

Taking the man's hand in a shake, Wesker let go just a moment afterwards and watched Chris go, simply telling him if he had any problems or questions to give them a call. Watching the man leave the shooting range, Wesker pulled the goggles off of his face and stepped over to the paper, pulling it down and looking it over. One brow raised as he said a single word, "Promising."

Balling the paper up into his fists, he took off the headphones and then pulled his shades from his pocket, putting them back on his face. This team was shaping up nicely. He didn't want men who couldn't handle an intense situation, and Chris, so far, seemed to be a shining example of that kind of asset he was searching for. Turning, he walked toward the exit himself and tossed the paper into the trash.

He had plans for his S.T.A.R.S. team. They couldn't be weak, they'd be no use to him if they were weak. It was also a good idea to push friendships between the members, just to make them fight harder to survive if something terribly wrong should happen, also to keep them watching out for one another until their true purpose could be served. He couldn't wait to see the outcome.

Somehow Wesker felt as if things were on the brink of a change. Now was probably going to be one of the most meticulous times in his life. For some strange reason, he couldn't help but feel as if he were on a good path, that things would play out well, as long as he continued to pull his cards right.

Things were indeed looking promising.


	16. Seeds of Perfection

_Seeds of Perfection_

_October 4__th__, 1996_

"You seem happy in your new line of work, Wesker."

It seemed to be quiet in the room aside from the idle swing of the blades on the ceiling fan. Wesker's home was located a bit remotely from town though not completely outside of it, comfortable and quiet, just the way he preferred. He was enjoying that comfort and quiet on his couch now, and oddly enough with a woman. Perhaps, however, the woman wasn't the oddity. What was the oddity was that it was a woman he'd slept with before, and had once again turned to now for a bit of physical relief. Such things didn't happen often to him. In fact, he could only really remember one other woman he'd slept with more than once before.

"Do I?"

Jessica smirked, laying on her back, which was settled on his lower abdomen, her head against his chest, relaxed and content where she was. She liked his somber ways of being, how he wasn't never over excited about anything, and how he was so cool and calm, collected, most all of the time. It was a definite refreshing taste from the usual men she put up with, and she sighed softly and she closed her eyes, just replying logically to him.

"You like your control, and this position offers you a lot more control than your last one did, doesn't it?"

"How would you know I like control?" Wesker already knew the answer to that question, but he liked to see if she was as astute as he thought she was.

Jessica just waved her hands about as if to denote the position they were in. "What have we been doing this entire time? Honestly, I find it humorous, when I saw you at the diner earlier, I hadn't expected to go home with you, in fact, I was trying to stay away from it."

The confession made him lift a somber brow over his unshaded ice blue eye. She'd just nailed his own initial thoughts on the head, he hadn't considered taking her home with him either. But things had wound up that way, and now they were here, both nude, and both idly chatting, neither anywhere near sleepy as they had been the previous time they'd slept together. It was the middle of the afternoon after all, and they were both wide awake.

"I would surmise you never return to previous partners often then, do you? Should I say the lack of a condom frightens me now?"

Jessica started laughing softly. Hearing him ask about anything frightening him just seemed humorous to her somehow, and she turned her head up to look at him, his blue eyes, pursing her lips. "Do I really seem loose and promiscuous?"

"Do I seem as if I would be interested in rock and roll?"

She knew the point of his statement was that looks were deceiving, and she shrugged a slight bit, her smirk never faltering. "I understand that, and I also know words can't prove anything. Only actions can. So why do you think it was so easy for me to go home with you when I didn't originally want to? Wanted to stay away from it?"

"Perhaps it has been a while and you remembered you liked what happened before."

They were both about as serious as it took to lay on a couch without any cares surrounding you, but somehow the idle chatter, no matter how much of one for it Wesker wasn't, seemed to be appropriate. As much of a man as he was for putting in work whenever he could, he also needed his downtime, and now was one of those times. Besides, somehow it didn't matter with Jessica, her idle chatter seemed to have a bit of merit, and he didn't mind it like he usually did other peoples.

"Perhaps. A bit of give and take. That's all. I just didn't want it to turn into anything more. But if you're so concerned about my health, I'll give you the results of a blood test, and show you my birth control pills as well."

"I might take you up on that," he smirked slightly, "as long as the test is not administered by Umbrella."

Jessica was smirking the entire time he'd said those lines. Her eyes had closed and she just relaxed laying there, thinking to herself about how stern the man was, how rigid and unforgiving it seemed, yet somehow, he still knew how to treat a lady properly, and somehow, even with his previous quirks of discipline mentioned, the fact that he knew how to treat a lady still suited him. It was an interesting combination. Most girls in the labs had always been intimidated by the man. They would never approach him even whenever they fawned over him sometimes without his notice, and it had amused Jessica endlessly. They were far too afraid to approach him no matter how much they may have liked him, physically anyway.

It made her wonder a few things about the man, things she didn't want to wonder too far about. But she didn't think a question or two hurt him or herself. "Have you ever been in a serious relationship?"

Wesker found himself drawn out of his own thoughts at the question. It made him lift a brow, but not in annoyance. "Not specifically. Why do you ask?"

"Sometimes it's hard not to."

"I see. Curiosity killed the cat, hmm?"

"Maybe. It's just hard to know from looking."

"Interested?"

Jessica's brows lifted. That wasn't something she'd been expecting. She had to wonder what he'd meant exactly. "In a serious relationship with someone?"

"Yes."

"Right man, right time, right place, perhaps I would be."

Wesker hadn't really given much thought to the matter himself. Women tended to be an unwelcome distraction to him and his goals. She'd nailed the right time and right place part on the head, but as for a right person, Wesker wasn't completely sure something like that existed. Perhaps it did to the point that they passed as a good qualification, but everyone had their flaws.

Even still, Wesker had thought that perfection was a delusion anyway, set up by those smart enough to know how to create it with compensation. There was no heaven, only what someone set up for themselves to make appear to be inviting and perfect. On the same token, there was also no hell. Not in the sense that many people took it anyway.

One mans trash was another mans treasure; same concept, but this time it was that one mans heaven was another mans hell.

"You've gotten awfully quiet," Jessica piped up, sitting forward a bit and then rolling over so that she was pressing her front side against him, arms on either side of his torso, looking up at his face. "Wasn't something I said to ruin the mood, was it?"

"Not in the least," he replied casually, lifting some of her long black hair back from his skin to keep it from tickling him, pushing it over her shoulder. "I was simply considering what you said about the right person."

"Did you find a conclusion?"

"Perhaps."

"Well? I'm curious what you thought."

"Why is that?"

"You always have something interesting to say." She smirked at him, awaiting his response.

"In that case, I shall have to explain," he started. "The right time and place may exist, but the right person may not. Though, if it's true that a relationship is a team effort, then maybe it would be the fault of both every time one fails."

Jessica started grinning at his last words. "No one's perfect, that what you're trying to say?"

"Astute of you."

"Well, I try anyway," she smirked, sitting back, unshy about her nudity, and Wesker didn't mind the view one bit. One of his legs became draped over hers as she reached to the table behind the couch, having to turn so that she could get some reaching room in, and she pulled her purse toward herself, rummaging through it for her watch. Finding it, she looked at the time and then sighed, "It's three."

"What happens at three?"

"I'm supposed to be at work at four."

"Well, no one is perfect."

Jessica stuffed her watch back into her purse and set it to the side on the table again, moving his leg as she snorted slightly in amusement over his remark, but was a slight bit surprised that, when she'd moved his leg, he'd just sat up and over her, pushing her against the opposite arm of the couch she'd been resting against, pinning her wrists to the cushions with his hands by each side of her head.

"You, my dear, are no exception to the rule."

Jessica couldn't be exactly sure what he was talking about. She stared at him quietly for a few moments, watched him moving his legs between hers, then looked back up at his face again as he finally finished his statement.

"You are about to be very late."

Jessica's brows raised. There seemed to be some kind of playfulness to his tone, even his features, that she couldn't quite place, and so she just smirked and lifted her hips a bit, "Come on, Wesker, surely you're not going to take an hour of my time away from me?"

Wesker had leaned down as she spoke, putting his arm around her back and lifting her body closer to his own, his head shaking a bit in the negative, "No, I'm going to take more. Perfection may not exist, but I intend on sewing its seeds, no matter what I do."

Jessica found herself a slight bit breathless at the words. She could only wonder, as he proceeded to make good on his promise, what might have prompted him to take that course of action just now. Perhaps she'd never know. But she did know that if perfection didn't exist, she didn't care as long as there were more people in the world who could pull it off as well as he could, even when she tried to tell him she needed to go and he persisted to take her instead, she couldn't have been more satisfied.

_2 Years Later_

_July 25__th__, 1998_

The trees were passing by quickly, the sound of leaves rustling only setting off the heavy footfalls as the sun began to rise over the horizon, casting only faint, dim lights into the forests surrounding the area in faint glimpses through the limbs of the trees. In the distance, the sound of a loud explosion could be heard, debris from the long standing Estate going everywhere, flying about in piles of ashes as well as more solid substances, the trees nearby going with it as well, and every living, or even un-living, creature within the structure of the recently blown away walls went with it.

The force of the blast stopped the footfalls, having gotten such a rapid pace and speed going that he had to grab the truck of a tree to not only stop himself but also prevent himself from falling over in the wake of the tremendous blast.

Wesker looked back onto the destruction in the distance. He could see the fire and ash flying out of the newly charred Spencer Estate, seeming to come his way, eyes glowing an eery, malevolent red as he expected some large bit of debris to come down on him at any moment which he would have to escape, searched the skies swiftly for it as the two orbs glowed. But nothing ever did, and as the moment finally calmed down, as the bloodied S.T.A.R.S. captain regained his sense of security for the moment, his eyes faded back into an ice blue, proving his frame of mind was definitely mellow and somber at that time.

He let go of the trunk of the tree and pushed himself back from it, looking away from the destroyed mansion and into the woods. In the distance was the sound of rotary blades, a sound he did _not_ want to hear. Looking up, he saw it, the helicopter taking off into the distance, and though his mood had been somber and content a moment before, as he saw the logo on the side of the helicopter, knew what it had meant, he balled up his fist as his eyes turned red and turned swiftly, slamming it into the truck of the tree which had caught his fall.

Wood shards flew away from the other side of the tree and Wesker stared at the new groove slammed into the trunk, having only hit the tree hard enough to knock a good chunk out of it as he drew his arm back, then looked at his fist. His eyes stopped glowing once again, and he flexed his fingers, saw that there was no damage to his hand. The sound of the rotary blades faded into the distance and Wesker let his arm drop, lifting his head once again, a small smirk creasing his lips.

The seeds of perfection had been planted. Minor setbacks would be inevitable. He would push on.

Lifting a booted foot, he made his way off into the forest.


	17. By My Hand

_By My Hand_

_October 26__th__, 1998_

It was completely quiet. The laboratory was dark, only lit by the hung open doors of cooling units with their soft blue lights inside of them glowing. The room was a mess, busted vials and containers here and there, papers strewn about, laying in messes that were randomly blown up by the vents in the room. The only sound was his raspy breathing, and though he knew somewhere in his mind that his body should be wracked with tremendous pain in that moment, he felt completely numb to it.

He was a invincible now. No one could hurt him. His choices and his thoughts now were final. To be a completely free man as he was in that moment was an invigorating feeling, and even if he was dying, bullet holes riddled throughout his body, he felt as if he had more life in him than he'd ever had before.

William Birkin, researcher, scientist, engineer, husband, father, a dying man, holding in his bloody hand the last vial of his perfect creation. His perfect creation he was giving his life to before, and would now do so on a more justified, perhaps even poetic level. Lifting his arm up, he let the vial and his weak limb settle onto his lap. He'd found a syringe with his other hand, and he pulled that up as well. He needed it, to survive, so his legacy would live on.

He'd filled syringes so many times he didn't even have to have his eyes open to do it anymore. Working the contents into the tool, he didn't even have to think about it, his mind moving along other lines. The very first thought popping into his head being his daughter, Sherry. She was another of his legacies, and he still maintained he'd been right all along. They didn't need anyone else, only each other, and this, what he held in his hand, his perfect creation.

This would make him all powerful, show them that he was not to be trifled with. He would unleash the power of his own perfect creation on them all for what they'd done, and show them exactly how much mettle he had. Dying though he may be, they'd given him an option, the open window with which he needed to accomplish this. After all, if James Marcus could do it, if Albert Wesker could do it, so could he.

Sherry, he thought again. Somehow, he knew, she'd set things right. She was as smart as he was and as crafty as her mother. His legacy would live on throughout her, she'd carry it far beyond these walls of concrete and stone, beyond the limits of the city, where it needed to go. She always had been the key.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Birkin lifted the syringe, full of the purple viral liquid, in his hand. _His_ hand. This would all end by _his_ hand.

With a swipe of his hand down toward his own body, his torso, he stuck the needle into his own flesh, and watched the contents of the syringe drain into him. Despite the numb sensations he had in that moment, he could still feel a burning beneath his skin, that which he knew was the fire he was starting, which would burn a hole through everything that had been trying to bring him down. This was where it started, and this was where it would end. By his hand.

Nothing else needed to be said.


	18. In Another Twenty Years

_Epilogue_

_In Another Twenty Years_

_September 7__th__, 1977_

They were just kids. Teenagers, what someone might call 'younguns', wet behind the ears and cocky as hell. The residency was quiet for them both, not many people about, and it seemed to be a perfect time for them to study. So he did, despite his youth, despite how much he had to learn, he studied on what he'd learned the first day there, and he did so quietly, with a silent type of exploration at hand.

The door to the residence opened and a fellow apprentice entered the room, carrying a large bag of luggage behind himself. Looking up, he lifted a brow at the young man's back, and just waited for him to settle himself. He wasn't completely upset over the interruption, curious to see who was entering his room now to stay the night in their temporary quarters.

Finally getting the bag onto the empty bed, the young man took a deep breath, then he turned and looked over at his current roommate. His hair was a shade darker though still blonde, and his eyes were a darker blue as well. He nodded his head and then moved over to the bed on which his roommate was sitting, holding out his hand.

"Hello. I'm William Birkin."

The hand was taken for a shake, and then let go of, the reply being given, "Albert Wesker. I think we met in the conference room earlier briefly."

"Yes, I remember you." Birkin turned back to his bed and started unzipping some of the zippers on his luggage. "Where are you from?"

Wesker wasn't surprised at the question, got it rather often considering his accent, and he told his new roommate, "Originally Germany."

Birkin didn't make a response at first. Instead, he pulled out a selection of clothing and then looked back over at Wesker before he sat down on the bed. "But you didn't grow up there."

"No. I moved around a lot as a child."

"I didn't. I was born and raised here. But you must have seen some interesting sights."

Wesker was still wearing his shades even though it was nighttime. It made it much harder for Birkin to tell what the man might've been thinking, but he did see him raise a brow as if in thought. "You could say that."

He must not have been very talkative, Birkin qualified to himself. Deciding he wasn't going to let that stop him however, he just turned and leaned back against the headboard of the bed, crossing one leg over the other. "How long have you been here now?"

"I just arrived too."

Birkin nodded his head, then asking, "How old are you?"

"17."

"Two years older than me," he mused, looking over at Wesker. "By the way, why are you wearing shades at night?"

"They are prescription," Wesker replied with a good bit of sarcasm to his voice. Birkin just watched him for a moment and suddenly he smiled, chuckling. Wesker's own lips turned up in a slight smile, and he folded his book shut and set it on the bedside table.

"So, they seemed pretty enthusiastic in the pep talks they gave this afternoon. It seems as if Dr. Marcus is fairly energetic with his work, devoted."

The comment made Wesker tilted his head slightly, his brows narrowed. "I think he's obsessed."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"There could be. If he's obsessed, it will make things harder on his apprentices to overcome his expectations."

"I like a challenge," Birkin replied, "I've always wanted to do this type of thing, so it doesn't bother me in the least. You?"

"Not at all. I'm simply concerned for his mental state of being."

Birkin started chuckling, shaking his head slowly, "So he didn't get you excited this afternoon with what we're going to be pursuing here?"

Wesker sighed, sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed, shaking his head no, "I don't need a pep talk to get my interests up over what I already want to do. It fulfills my hope that the place is as serious as I want it to be, but I don't need to be talked into it."

"Good point," Birkin smirked, "still, it makes you wonder."

"About what?"

"About the future. About where we'll be next year. Here? Or are we not good enough? What about twenty years from here? Will we be up there, giving the same kinds of pep talks to new recruits?"

It seemed as if Birkin was somewhat of a dreamer in a way, Wesker thought to himself, looking over at the young man. Perhaps he had very high ambitions. Wesker preferred to ground himself so he could attain his goals more easily. He didn't want to think about where he'd be in another twenty years, because his mind wouldn't be on the present around him to actually get him there. But now that Birkin had brought it up, Wesker shook his head slowly.

"In another twenty years, you can give the pep talks. I'll just find the suitable recruits. As for next year, I fully intent to still be here."

Birkin smirked, then he sat forward and climbed off of the bed, taking his choice of clothing with him, saying, "Alright, that's a fair deal. Then I guess we'll see what happens, won't we?"

"If nothing else, we will," Wesker replied, watching the young man going into the bathroom to change his clothing. Once the door had shut, Wesker reached up and pulled his shades off, setting them on his book on the bedside table. In another twenty years?

Wesker smirked. He hoped by then he was the one in charge of everyone here.


End file.
